


A Lone Albatross

by FayerieQueen (MarriedHeathens)



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Dad Saves the Day, Davenport Gets a True Hero's Story, Multi, and tbh it's about goddamned time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 52,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15886074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarriedHeathens/pseuds/FayerieQueen
Summary: It came for them, one by one.His Peacemaker, His Protector, His Twins and Her Lover.His Lonely Journal Keeper.Now only the Wordless One remains, and he will stop at nothing to reunite his family.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stonestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonestars/gifts), [authoressConjurer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressConjurer/gifts).



> It comes for them, one by one.  
> The Lover, trapped in a cage of glass and water.  
> The Lonely Journal Keeper, wings broken by the weight of her mistakes.  
> The Protector, intercepted mid-flight.  
> A Twin, wings pinned by her own fury.  
> A Twin, stolen from his nest.  
> The Peacemaker, his song silenced in the night.  
> Until only the Wordless One remains, wings outstretched, a lone albatross in the sky.

“See! There’s no need to worry, Luce! She’s a very well-behaved dog.”

“I suppose.”

Despite her words, Lucretia’s voice is quiet, hesitant. It’s hard for her to look at the Pibble and imagine anything more than her running away, leaping from atop the guardrails and plunging to her death. There was a reason she’d forbid dogs on the moon all those years ago. It wasn’t to spite Magnus or to hurt any of those onboard who needed a pet; it was simply to keep her people and those innocent animals safe. And now Lucretia has her own animal to fear over, her own little piece of Magnus to keep watch on.

Her fears had not yet come true, with Captain remaining stalwart by her side, but the anxiety is still there. Her hands tremble as she pats Captain’s side, and the dog’s tail wags in delight. Lucretia sighs softly, falling into her seat. She places her staff beside her, always within reach. The Light of Creation had long since been taken from it, returned to its rightful owners, but the Bulwark Staff was still very much hers. She had crafted it, using lessons she’d learned from Magnus, her own dexterous hands. It is the one comfort she has, now that her family had taken their own pieces of Faerun. 

Magnus hesitates as she takes a sip from her mug, then steps forward. He takes the staff, earning a noise of complaint from Lucretia, but shakes his head. “No, no! Watch, Lucy. I’ve been teaching her a new one.” He moves across the room, placing the staff by her door, and nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “Point to it.”

“Magnus—”

“C’mon, Luce, trust me.”

She sighs, warm and good-natured, and smiles up at her older brother. Whatever it takes to humor him, to earn that smile once more. Her hand lifts, fingers loosely motioning towards the staff. Captain follows her gaze, then gives a gentle  _ boof _ . She stands, leaving her position by Lucretia’s side, and pads over towards the staff. Her mouth encircles the highest point she can reach, but she doesn’t bite down. She’s careful with it. And when Captain returns with it, placing the staff lightly in the woman’s lap, Lucretia can only laugh. The sound is soft, warm; a sound she hasn’t made in quite some time. 

“What a good girl!”

Magnus grins proudly, hands on his hips. “Figured you could use that one! Hey, uh—” he hesitates a moment, as if thinking, then grins. Shoots her two fingerguns. “I’m gunna let you two take a moment to get to know each other better. I didn’t bring any of Captain’s treats with me, and since she’s going to be staying here now—”

“Magnus.”

“—Nope, not taking her back with me! She’s yours, now. And both of you deserve a treat after the trip back. Two seconds, Luce!”

He’s gone before she can protest, and Lucretia can only smile. One hand on her staff, the other reaches down, to scratch behind Captain’s ears. Perhaps she had found a new comfort in this world, after all. A piece of Magnus, a piece of the warmth and comfort and protection she’d felt within the Starblaster. It’s all she had ever wanted, for herself and for her family. 

“Director?”

Lucretia lifts her head, second hand returning to her staff. Captain lays by her feet, tucked under her desk, and the woman turns towards the individuals. “Ah, yes! I’ve been expecting you. Come in, have a seat.”


	2. Taken

Davenport guides the boat to the dock with expert precision.

He leaps from the wheel, dropping the anchor, grabbing up the rope. It won’t do much, but it and the anchor will hold his ship in place. The dock is stable beneath his feet. It doesn’t take long to tie the rope into position, finishing it off with a deft square knot, and the gnome stands. Seems he hasn’t lost his touch, he thinks with a grin. Turning from his new home, Davenport starts down the dock, and feels warmth spread through his chest.

“Ahoy!” Merle calls, grinning. A chuckle escapes the gnome. “Glad to see you made it safely.”

Davenport reaches his side, and the dwarf hooks their elbows. “Yeah, y’know, the weather’s been pretty nice, and I haven’t seen a _single_ undead sailor in months.”

“Wonder who you have to thank for that.” He tsk’s softly, shaking his head. “You might wanna take those brave adventurers out for a drink. Or, here’s an idea, maybe take the handsomest and most capable out to dinner. I’m sure they would all thank you for that.”

“I don’t think Kravitz would be very pleased.”

Merle laughs again, and Davenport curses the way his stomach twists. Curses how they seem to move together, how _nice_ Merle’s arm feels hooked with his. The sea is his home, but there’s something special about coming in every once in a while to find his family. Barry and Lup, preparing him lunch; Merle and him planning a walk for afterwards. It’s like their century together all over again, except now they’re safe. Now, no Hunger is chasing them, trying to steal the Light. Now, they can just be the family they’d become, and nothing can take that away.

“What’s on the menu for today?” He takes a brief moment to lean against Merle, to soak in the warmth and light that follows the dwarf. A bit of Pan, he thinks, but mostly Merle’s natural optimism. Davenport wishes he had more of it. “No more stew, I hope.”

Merle shakes his head, eyes shining. “I think Lup said something about braised hare? I’m not sure, though. I’ve already eaten. Taken a bit to walk around, survey the land… Found a little waterfall we can check out, once you’re done checkin’ on the kids.” His free hand lifts, to give Davenport’s arm a squeeze. “They miss you.”

He misses them, too.

He’s happy with his freedom, his boat. The seas are his home, just as much as the stars were during that century. He’s _happy_ now. But nothing can ever replace those years with his crew, the bonds they’d created and nurtured. Time can’t erode that, and not even ten years in confusion could sully what they had meant to him. Davenport makes a mental note to check in more often. For both his family and himself.

“Sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Nah! I’ve had my fill, and, besides, someone’s gotta be waitin’ at home when you return.” Merle gives the gnome’s hip a little bump with his own before he pulls free, just a few yards from the gate. “You leave the door unlocked for me?”

Davenport rolls his eyes. “You have a key.”

“Oh, yeah.” The last word trails off into a laugh, Merle’s voice trembling with it, and once more Davenport has to fight down the warmth that bubbles forth. “I’ll be waitin’, Dav. But take your time; they’ve waited longer than I have.”

As Merle waddles back towards the boathouse, Davenport takes a moment to collect himself. Straightening his vest, readjusting where Merle’s touch had crinkled the fabric. He forces in a few deep breaths, forces his heart to calm. It’s been three years since that day, but still the thought of his family— of them not wanting him, of them not remembering him, of them not _being there_ — is fresh in his mind. Davenport takes a moment to force those thoughts away, too. His family deserves their Captain, their father, and he will be whatever they need.

But when he enters the house, all of those fears return.

The house is in shambles.

Barry had never been a neat man; he was a scientist, after all. They knew how to organize, but it was always _organized chaos_. Lup wasn’t much better, though she actively tried to keep Barry’s mess contained to at least one area of the house. But this… this was different. Furniture shattered, decor tossed around. Barry’s robe lay tossed to the side, buried beneath a pile of what once was a chair. Lup’s is on the other side of the room, laying across the hearth, half of it throw within the fireplace. Not burnt; they had long since protected it against fire, given Lup’s _talents_ , but the message was clear.

“Fuck.”

Davenport calls, though he knows it’s fruitless. A quick search of the house reveals the front room is the only to be in such shambles. Okay. Okay, he needs to think this through. Quickly, he composes a list of possible scenarios. Theory One: the two got into a fight and needed time away from each other. Doubtful. Theory Two: Someone broke in, attacked the two. Also doubtful, considering their statuses as liches. Theory Three: This was a deliberate, planned attack, and the aftermath was staged for whoever happened to find them. Nauseating, but the most probable of the three. He leans against the doorframe separating the kitchen and the front room, a hand on his stomach.

His heart pounds in his ears, and Davenport forces himself to breathe in, hold, breathe out. In, hold, out. He can’t panic. He can’t let himself give into fear. If this is a nightmare, he’ll wake soon. If it isn’t… If it isn’t, then he’ll figure this out. Fingers fumbling, he lifts his Stone of Farspeech, and turns it to Lup’s channel. Nothing. Not even static, just silence. A quick flip to Barry’s reveals the same. Okay. Okay, new plan. Taako’s. Taako will know where his sister is. He always knows.

The voice that picks up isn’t Taako’s.

“S—sir?”

“Angus.” The boy’s name is a relieved sigh. “Angus, it’s Davenport. Is Taako there? I need to talk to him.”

Angus’ breath hitches on the other side of the line. There’s a long, agonizing moment of silence as the boy’s breathing increases, and for a moment Davenport is concerned the poor thing is going to have an anxiety attack right there. In the background, he can hear Kravitz trying to speak calmly, but the Reaper’s own voice trembles, though Davenport can’t make out the words.

Angus is eventually able to speak, though, when he does, his voice sounds lost, wet with emotion. “No— no, sir. Kravitz and I can’t find him anywhere. He was— he was baking when we went out, and… and when we came back, he was gone. We can’t find him, sir. We can’t find him anywhere.”

As much as he wants to comfort the boy, Davenport can’t think beyond his own needs, his own horrors. He turns from the room and runs, out of the door, past the gate. Merle’s name is a prayer and a plea on his tongue. He couldn’t have gotten far. He was a man who took his time, who enjoyed the world around him.

Davenport leaps from the dock onto his boat. His feet skid, carrying him past the cabin, but he quickly falls to all fours to right himself. One more leap, and he’s crossed the distance between himself and the door. Inside, he can hear the kettle whistling. Davenport forces the door open with perhaps more strength than he needs to. The sight inside is enough to take the wind from his sails, so to speak, and the gnome struggles to find purchase.

Merle’s robe, tossed across the table like a gift. Their cups, shattered nearby. The Xtreme Teen Bible, discarded halfway across the room. No sign of Merle. No blood splatter, no splinters; not even a single hair from the dwarf’s beard can be seen.

Dimly, he can hear Angus calling for him, from the Stone he forgot to turn off. Davenport doesn’t answer, and instead buries his face in his hands, willing himself to wake from this nightmare.


	3. From This Broken Home

They’re all gone, disappeared.

Taken.

He’s tried all of their Stones of Farspeech, and still he’s received no answer. Magnus isn’t answering, either, though Davenport can’t confirm if the same fate has befallen the fighter. He could simply be at work with his dogs, or in the middle of crafting a new project. Something duck-related, no doubt. Or a new dining room set for Taako and Kravitz’s wedding, since that is approaching fast. Davenport tucks away a mental note to, once this is all over, reconfirm the colors with Taako. They’re going to make it through this. They’re going to have a wedding, and they will all be happy again.

But that is for later. That is the happy ending they deserve, and the happy ending they _will receive_ , as soon as he is able to bring them home. First, he has to find them, and there’s only one woman he knows with a gaze that spreads as wide and as far as Faerun runs. He needs Lucretia. She’s not answering, either, but that’s not unusual. She buries herself in paperwork, forces herself to stretch as far as humanly possible. Or, half-elfly, he thinks with a chuckle. But if she’s not answering him, then the answer is clear. He has to visit the Bureau. Perhaps she knows where the boys are. She _has_ to know where Lup is, at the very least. It’s the only thing he can think of.

His bracer is long since gone, destroyed after the Director— Lucretia, he reminds himself, with perhaps a bit more venom than intended— removed them from their wrists. But his Stone still has Avi’s signal, among others within the Bureau, and it’s easy enough to call for a bubble. Waiting is the worst part, at least until the orb finally arrives. The trip up is the worst part, filled with conflicting emotions, with a sense of dread hanging over his head. Not for seeing Lucretia again; never that. They have long since patched up their differences.

 _“I can’t forgive what you’ve done,”_ he’d said, and watched as she’d flinched from him. Tears welling, tears they both couldn’t shed. Not yet. _“But I will always love you. You’re my daughter.”_

It had been a tearful reunion a year in the making. The emotions had been too much for both of them, but they were still family. They _are_ still a family. Perhaps a little broken, perhaps a little damaged, but family. He knows she’s written to all of them, even if some of them had taken their time in writing back. Gods know he took a while. They’ve all had to find themselves again, figure out who they truly are after the Day of Story and Song. But slowly, surely, they’ve come back to each other. If anyone knows where they are, it’s Lucretia. She has to know. She’s his only hope.

The bubble lands gently in its dock. He’s already unbuckled and at the door by the time it hisses open. Avi is waiting for him, but Davenport brushes past him. He can hear the other trying to say something, but the words are muffled, confused. Emotions cloud the gnome’s vision; his heart pounds in his ears. There are too many memories here, too many fuzzy moments he dare not think about. Instead, he lets instinct take over him. His feet trace the path to her office he knows far too well, ignoring the officers that call his name. They are unimportant. All that matters is…

“Lucretia!” Her name is a prayer and a plea all at once. He can see the doors to her office, the doors she once kept locked tight to all except those she invited in. They’re closed still now, but he knows they’ll be unlocked. They haven’t been locked since the Day of Story and Song. He just has to make it there, and this mystery is solved. He pushes past Killian, even as the orc reaches for him. He doesn’t get much farther before Carey lands in front of his path, and Davenport is forced to skid to a stop. He summons all the strength he has and, in his Captain’s tone, demands, “Out of my way.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go in there,” Killian says, once she’s caught up. She’s breathing hard, and immediately his senses alight. No one’s safe. He can’t trust anyone with this, not even those who fought beside him. Those thoughts only worsen when Killian and Carey share a look. His chest tightens. “There’s… there’s been an incident. We’re investigating. You can’t—”

“ _Out of my way._ ”

His tail is thrashing behind him now. He was kept in the dark for far too long, protected by people who didn’t know the man, the Captain, he was. He is. He won’t be kept from the truth anymore. Not when his stomach churns, his heart pounds in his throat. Not when it involves his _family._ The two women share one more look, Killian nodding once, and Carey straightens. That’s all the permission he will wait for; he darts forward, pushing open the doors with all the strength he has, and his blood turns to ice in his veins.

The Director’s office is torn asunder. Papers scattered, chair tossed across the room. Near the foot of the dias, Lucretia’s staff lay shattered. Her red sash, the one piece of her robe she’d dared to wear over the past twelve years, tied the pieces neatly together. A taunt, a promise, a threat. But her robe, her red robe she’d once worn with pride, has been laid across her desk, splattered with blood. No. No, not blood, he realizes as he approaches. Ink.

“What happened?”

“Careful!”

Before he can ask what for, there’s a dog between him and the staff. A medium-sized Pibble with brindle pattering. She crouches over the staff, her paws separated, her fur raised. Davenport feels his heart thud still in his chest, and one glance backwards reveals Killian moving forward. Her hands are raised.

“Easy, Cap’n,” she says, and Davenport starts. Killian gives the gnome a sympathetic look, though something else shines behind her eyes. “That’s her name. She’s… She was a gift from Magnus. And she’s a good girl, isn’t that right?  You wouldn’t hurt us. It’s just ole Carey and Killian, and we brought a friend. Ain’t no one gunna hurt you. We’re gunna find the Director for you.”

“I thought dogs weren’t allowed.” He side-eyes the dog, then drop his position as well. “Or has that changed?”

It’s Carey who speaks next, crouched next to Davenport. “Magnus brought her to show her off, then decided to leave her as a surprise. Said the Director needed someone like her. Easy, girl. You’re okay.”

The dog looks between the three, snuffling loudly, and then whines. Her ears droop, but she moves aside, choosing to lay next to the broken staff. When none of the three move forward, she noses a piece towards them. It’s only Davenport who approaches, first to let her sniff him, and then to take the offered piece. A quick glance over tells him all he needs to know; shattered, magically so. The real thing, too, if his senses are still any good. It doesn’t help his nausea.

He repeats, “What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Killian’s voice answered, gruff and uncertain. She kneels beside him, lifting the sash. Pieces clatter along the floor; Captain whines, and Davenport feels his breath hitch in his throat. “The alarms rang, we came to help, and it was just… like this. We’ve been searching, but she’s not here. Magnus isn’t, either.”

As if things couldn’t get any worse. Davenport rests a hand on his stomach, trying to force the nausea away. “Magnus?”

“He was visiting,” Carey supplies. She steps forward, past Davenport, and kneels in front of the shattered staff. Her voice is thick, choked by the emotion in her chest. “He and Lucretia ha just come back from Raven’s Roost. He was trying to show her that animals are fine to have here, once they’re trained. Y’know, make sure they don’t run of the damned moon, but… I don’t know. I don’t know. He said he was going to Fantasy CostCo. I saw him on the way there. He wanted to get Captain a treat for being such a good girl. But— The alarms went off. He came running this way. He was trying, but—”

Her words fail, but she’s said enough. Davenport’s hands clench and relax as he struggles to control the thoughts flurrying through his mind. Deep breath, put the pieces together. Magnus and Lucretia, both on the moon, both somewhere they were supposed to be safe. Despite that fact, they are now gone. Stolen away at best, murdered at worst. No. No, he couldn’t think like that. They’d survived a century together, ten years of isolation, the _Hunger_. No simple assailant could kill them. Not Magnus. Not Lucretia.

“It’s been staged,” he finally says. He moves to kneel beside Carey, runs his fingers over the tattered sash. “This isn’t a coincidence.”

“It would have had to be done quickly.”

“Or by someone who could…” Davenport shakes his head. It’s ridiculous; there’s no way to manipulate time, not like this. A few seconds, yes, but this would have taken _minutes_. Plenty of time for Carey and Killian and the others to barge in and discover them. So what had happened? “Contact Angus, bring him here. Don’t touch anything else until he’s had his look. If anyone can figure this out…”

“He’s already on his way,” Killian murmurs, and Davenport nods. Good. Good, one less instruction to give. One less person to wrangle in, to bring home.

“Where was Magnus last spotted?”

Killian rests a hand on her hip, then hesitates, wrapping that arm around Carey. The Dragonborn looks sick, but the Orc continues, “Just outside of Fantasy CostCo.”

He nods. “Then we’ll start there.”

* * *

Magic courses through her veins, a fire she can’t seem to quell. All around her, the winds cut, stirring up snow that completely whites her vision. She doesn’t need to see, though; all she has to do is concentrate, keep her spells going. The Light may be gone, but she doesn’t need it. She hasn’t needed it in the past three years, and she doesn’t need it now. All that matters is her family; protecting her family.

They’re so far from her, stretched across the land of Faerun. But she can still feel them, feel their hearts beating so close to hers. She has to hold on, has to protect them. They are the last piece of home she has left. They _are_ her home. She cannot let them fall now.

The voices are whispers in the back of her head, soothing and calm. Mortality is weak. They’ve all stepped beyond that, been born again and again and again. They defeated the Hunger, but now the people of Faerun need them again. To reunite them, to become something bigger. To _ascend_ beyond where they stand now. They need all Seven Birds, and right now they only have six.

“Where is he?” whispers the woman, reaching out with all she has. Five other hearts, incomplete without the sixth. Without their father. Her barrier silences her voice, but she knows they can hear her. They always do. “You promised you would protect them.”

No one answers.

She knew they wouldn’t.

* * *

Angus is in the Director’s office, searching through the clues. Kravitz is with him, trying to keep the both of them calm, and so Davenport and the women turn attention to Fantasy CostCo. Garfield has been kind enough to block off the entrance, for a small finder’s fee, of course. It’s a small price to pay to find their family.

The evidence is there, just with the other members of his family. There isn’t as much; they had to grab him quickly, and away from his home. But there are dog biscuits scattered, some of which Garfield has already started to clean up, and a bright red bandana discarded on top of those. To the side lays Railsplitter, with Magnus’ jacket folded not too far from it. He’s long since moved it, in his efforts to clean up, but Garfield had told them it’d been laying over the pile of biscuits. Another message.

“I didn’t even know Magnus still had this,” Davenport murmurs, kneeling beside the discarded jacket. He unfolds it, wrinkles his nose as he realizes it’s freshly pressed. Still in one piece. “Was he wearing this when…?”

Killian shakes her head. “No. Just… just the bandana. And, y’know, the usual Magnus regalia. No armor. And the only thing he carried was Railsplitter, and...”

Davenport nods. Sounds about right.

“He’s retired, or so he says,” Carey finishes his thought for him, a smile teasing her lips. She crouches next to Davenport, takes the bandana from the pile of biscuits. “But I know for a fact he keeps helping whoever asks him, though. Doesn’t he, Captain?”

The only response he gives is a grumbled complaint. Old habits are hard to break, especially for adventurers who had spent a century as they had. Trying to save planes; trying to save _themselves_. Suffering, watching others suffer. And then the decade of nothingness, when the three boys had just been trying to help the sister they didn’t remember. Of course they had come when he needed him. Of course they’d rushed to their old Captain’s side, ready to provide aid, whatever it may be. Davenport knows he could always count on them.

But now they’re counting on him, and that alone is enough to push him to his feet.  

“Killian,” he says, and the orc woman straightens. She lifts her chin with a pride he hasn’t seen since the early days of the Institute, and it’s enough to earn a small smile. “Gather everyone who was in the area at the time. I want them questioned. Three times each, mark down whenever a story strays. Carey,” she looks up at him, nods, “we’ll need to make contact with any allies we still have out there. Hurley and Sloane, Refuge— whoever are willing to lend us a hand, we’ll need their eyes and ears.”

It hurts him to say it, hurts him to think he alone wouldn’t be enough for this. But his family is missing, and their safety comes before his pride. More hands means more resources, and that means things get done faster. It shouldn’t be too much longer before they’re all reunited again.

“I need to return planetside,” he says, and continues before either of the women can stop him, “I know. They’re going to be after me next, but I have something important I have to do. If they want to spread a message, then so shall we. Make sure Angus doesn’t leave your sight. Is that understood?”

Both women at once, offering a salute, “Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s get to work.”


	4. A Wave Sent for Me

He leaves amidst protests from Angus, from Kravitz’s offers to join him. He doesn’t need them to worry about him. He doesn’t need them to accompany him, either; he is a Captain and a grown gnome. He can take care of himself. Besides, he can’t risk whoever is stealing his family away finding Angus and Kravitz back on solid ground. If they could get to the Bureau, then they can get anywhere, and it’s best if they remain under strict supervision. He’ll be back soon, he thinks, as he pulls the parachute.

He doesn’t know what’s waiting for him. Magnus’ jacket at the scene proved that the assailants had already been to Raven’s Roost and, when he wasn’t there, had turned their sights onto the moon. They’d had the foresight to bring his jacket. They’d known someone would find it there, and that they would find him. Davenport doesn’t know what he’s dealing with, but he knows it’s something bad. It’s something that wants them all, personally. But more than that, it’s something that wants to send a message to the people of Faerun.

Good fuckin’ luck.

The bubble deposits him safely a few hundred yards from his boathouse, and Davenport leaps from it. For a moment, he simply remains where he lands, taking a moment to breathe, to thank the gods to be off the Bureau’s base. Perhaps one day he can return there without anxiety overtaking him, but for now he is content with his home and the Starblaster. Lucretia, too, was content with visiting him. _Is._ She _is_ content with visiting him and taking a moment to avoid her paperwork.

Grounded once more, the gnome starts forward.

Something snaps behind him.

He freezes mid-step, one hand near his hip, fingers twitching. His ears perk, rotating as he tries to locate the source of the sound. For a moment, the world seems to stop; nothing moves, nothing breathes. Not even the birds dare to chirp. Then something rustles, and Davenport leaps upwards, hooking one hand on a branch while the other unsheathes a cutlass. He’s just quick enough, just fast enough. Below him, he sees a barrage of magic missiles sail and crash into another tree.

He falls, twisting midair to face the opposite direction. Three men— at least, he believes them to be men— stand just beyond the ascending bubble. Their faces are obscured, by Illusion magic he can only assume, but they are too tall to be gnomes are dwarves, too short to be orcs or Dragonborns. One holds a wand, another a staff, and the third clings tightly to his longbow. That’s all he needs to unsheath his second cutlass, holding both before him, crossed. His fingers twitch around the handle of the left.

“Let’s make this easy on all of us, old man.”

“It’s going to be easy enough for me.”

A burnt orange mage hand swipes out from under the man with the longbow, and it’s enough to distract the other two. He leaps forward, thrusting the right cutlass into the wizard’s chest. His feet hit the ground as the body does. Davenport turns towards the sorcerer, one cutlass extended, feet shoulder-width apart. The other flicks to his side, blood splattering.

“This really isn’t the best time, boys.”

The sorcerer lifts his staff as his companion struggles to his feet, and a bolt of lightning shoots forward. Curling his cutlass close, Davenport leaps as the bolt splits into three. Dodges one, two, but the third hits him in the chest. Pain erupts from his very core as his trajectory is impeded, sending him rolling backwards. His left cutlass is dropped as the electricity causes his hands to spasm, but he holds onto the first. Struggling to his feet, the gnome keeps the cutlass lifted in front of his face, and this time is quick enough to block their attack; an arrow shot from an unsteady bow.

He doesn’t take a second to think. There’s no time. Instead, he Blinks forward, moving behind the archer and slicing across his back. Movement catches the corner of his vision. Davenport whirls, lifting the cutlass just in time to block the staff. Faintly, he hears the wood groan in protest and takes that as his chance. He takes a few seconds to pass backwards, feet crossing over one another, before shifting his cutlass. A smile twitches beneath his mustache.

Normally, he’d comment. Normally, he’d give one last chance. But his emotions are running high; his family has been stolen from him, and he has no mercy left in his heart at the moment. Instead, he launches as the other prepares yet another spell, bringing the cutlass down before swiping upward. The back of the blade slices across the assailant’s stomach, and Davenport takes the opportunity to attack a second time. With one lash thrust, the sorcerer falls.

Behind him, he hears the archer groan, but Davenport is unconcerned. His blade made sure the other wouldn’t be using that longbow any time soon.

He takes a moment to compose himself; sheathing the sword in his hand, tugging and adjusting his clothes. Once he’s presentable again, Davenport turns to the archer. Something in him stirs, bringing up rage that’s festered for over a hundred years. Leaves crunch beneath his feet, signalling his approach, and the archer only has time to turn his head before the gnome is upon him. One hand on his chest, the other grasping a knife, pressing the tip to his throat.

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

“What the fuck did it look like?” He gasps, only to whimper as the knife presses harder, blood blossoming just beneath the tip. “I don’t know what kinda answer you were expecting, gnome.”

“Let’s try something else, then. _Who the fuck are you?_ ”

“Name’s Lysander.” Cocky little bastard, for someone so close to death. It only makes Davenport’s blood blister beneath his skin. “But I have a feeling that’s not what you want, either.”

Davenport can feel the tip of his ears growing hot, the tip of his tail trembling. This is getting nowhere. This is getting _nowhere fast_ , and he needs answers. The fuzz over the man’s face isn’t helping, either; it reminds him too much of years he would rather forget, of a time when he didn’t know what had been taken from him. Davenport doesn’t even realize he’s lashed out until the mask blurs then fades away, and he is left staring in the eyes of a young elf no older than Taako. It doesn’t help his temper.

“They never said you were a fighter,” laughs the elf.

“They lied to you.” He’s struggling to remain composed. He doesn’t want to play these games; he doesn’t want to let this elf get under his skin. He has a family to find, to save, and he can’t waste his time on three unknown assailants. Gods be damned, he was _Captain Davenport_ of the IPRE; he would not be distracted or detained while his family remained scattered to the winds.  “I’ll ask you one last time: _why are you here_?”

Lysander shrugs, then hisses in pain. Davenport shifts his weight, and is rewarded with another snarl from the elf. A smile crosses the man’s face, one that churns his stomach. “They just wanted us to _find you_ , gnome. You’re the last piece she needs.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, buddy. They just told us where to go, where to find you, and then gave us our instructions. That’s about all I know with this one.”

“Where are they?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The smile that stretches the elf’s face is enough to freeze Davenport’s blood, the sudden change nearly making him dizzy. It’s too wide, too full. Confidence etched in his face, despite the pain and the smell of blood in the air. Lysander doesn’t even seem to notice as he says, “Let’s just agree that they’re all far beyond your reach.”

He knows he’s not going to be able to get anything else from the elf. If he can say anything, he won’t. He’s just _toying_ with Davenport now, and that… that only causes his rage, his desperation, to swell. “I’ll find them,” he promises, and finishes off the last of the attackers with a last, deft slash. That taken care of, the gnome leaps from the lifeless form and hurries towards his boathouse.

He grabs what he can, making a mental note to snag his jacket as well. The others had been stripped of theirs; a message to him and others. He would not allow the same message to be spread with his own. Others would be after him; he knows that now. Others would come looking, intending to do as they had done with his family. But he isn’t going to give them that chance. As comfortable and as safe as his home on the water is, he’s going to need something more. He’s going to need something more powerful; something that can send a message just as well as their robes could. Davenport packs his stationary last, then hurries from the dock.

He needs the Starblaster.

* * *

_I’m sorry._

_We couldn’t save him._

_We tried, but—_

The voices, overlapping each other, each as cloyingly sweet as the last. She stops listening after the second or the third apologizes. She doesn’t need to hear any more. She can’t. She's heard all she needs to hear, knows all she needs to know.

He’s gone.

Five members of her family, safe and sound, but the last piece— _murdered_. Stolen from them, despite his strength, his tenacity. After over a hundred years together, his light was gone from their lives. Her mind grows dark as the storm outside wails. The storm within her is too much, too strong. She can feel it clawing at her flesh, tearing her insides. It forces itself free to join the howling wind.

Six birds remain, and she will guard them with her life.

* * *

They’re waiting for him when he docks the Starblaster.

Angus is the first to rush forward, leaping into the gnome’s arm. He accepts the hug with all the strength he can muster, stomach still twisting. They’re after him, now; he knows that much. Whoever these men, these monsters, claim to be, they targeted his crew for a reason. Will they stop when they find him? Or will they continue to target all those who have helped him? Questions he needs to know the answers to, and yet dreads. His grip tightens around the boy briefly before Davenport finally releases him.

“I want a report of all you’ve found while I was gone,” he says, and doesn’t fight when Angus takes his hand. His eyes find Killian, who nods, and then Carey. They two turn from him, hurrying to do as he says, and Davenport turns to Kravitz. His throat tightens briefly before, “We can’t trust anyone in the Bureau. They were able to attack Lucretia and Magnus here, and they were waiting when I returned.”

Angus’ grip tightens. “Sir?”

“I’m quite all right,” he assures the boy. “They were waiting for me. I don’t know if they’ve successfully infiltrated the Bureau or not, but I am not the sort to believe in coincidences. Not like these.”

Kravitz is trembling, Davenport can see that much, but the Reaper nods slowly. “What would you have me do, Captain? How can I help?”

“The three of us will stay aboard the Starblaster. I’ve done a full sweep already, and it’s clear. Whatever wards Lucretia put on it are still holding strong. I’ll give Carey and Killian the channel for my Stone of Farspeech, but they cannot accompany us. No one else can.”

“You don’t think that they…” Angus’ voice trailed off, and he leans his weight against Davenport slightly. “Sir, you don’t think that they would betray the Director?”

“We can’t trust anyone,” he repeats. Davenport glances down at the boy, and offers a small smile. “It’s nothing personal, Angus. If they truly are on our side, then they will understand, but I will not risk you or Kravitz being hurt by whatever force is targeting us. Trust me.”

“I— I do, sir.”

Kravitz moves to Davenport’s side, and Angus shifts, letting go of the gnome’s hand to take his adopted father’s. The two share a small, sad smile before Kravitz straightens. He places a closed fist over his heart, bowing his head briefly.

“Once he’s settled in,” Davenport adds, before the other can leave, “Check in with the Raven Queen and Istus, if you can. See if they’ve found anything.” He hesitates. “Take him with you if you can. Try not to let him leave your sight. Please.”

As Kravitz goes to do as is asked of him, Davenport takes his leave, following after the couple. They meet him halfway, in front of Lucretia’s office. For a moment, the three simply stare at each other, unsure of their next moves. The women had always reported to the Director, and he… even in his worst moments, he had known Lucretia was safe. He had found safety and warmth in her office. But Lucretia isn’t there anymore, and only he can guide them home. Davenport extends a hand, motioning towards the door. Killian nods, breaking the stillness, and moves to the double doors. Once they’re safe inside, she locks it behind them.

He doesn’t approach her desk. He can't make himself.

Instead, he remains standing in the center of the office and pats his leg. Captain pads over, whining softly. He’s no Lucretia, but right now, Davenport is the closes thing she has.

“What did you learn?”

Killian offers forth the folder, and he takes it. A brief glance-over tells him all he needs to know; the crew all seemed to have the same story. Killian hadn’t questioned them three times each, but four, and never once had anyone’s story strayed beyond the expected forgetfulness. Either all those guilty had departed, not expecting him to return to the moonbase, or they had all worked together to corroborate. Neither could be proven, and so both options had validity. He curses softly, closes the folder. Carey takes it from him, tucking it under an arm.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing,” Carey agrees, resting a hand on her hip. “There’s nothing there. There’s _nothing_ we could go on, no leads to follow. We already searched the Bureau, personally, and then tracked down the records of whoever left the cannons after the alarms sounded.”

He clasps his hands behind his back, nodded. “Then look before. We don’t know who set off the alarms. We don’t know if there was…” He trails off, biting his tongue. It’s possible that the alarms were set to be delayed by a few minutes, but that wouldn’t explain what happened to Magnus. They would have had to take a cannon topside, unless they had some sort of teleportation spell prepared. “I want a sweep done, an arcana check for any sort of teleportation magic. Ask Garfield if he’s sold anything that could do something similar. Contact me after all that is finished.”

Killian tenses. “You’re not staying on base?”

“We’ve already seen how _safe_ the Bureau is.” It comes out harsher than he expects, but he doesn’t apologize. He has nothing to apologize _for_. Those meant to protect his family had failed. It's up to him, as it always has been. “I’ll be taking Kravitz and Angus with me. As soon as you hear anything, contact me. I’ll be writing Hurley and Sloane later.”

“They haven’t answered us yet.” Carey’s voice is softer, her gaze gentle. He knows how close she is to Magnus, and if she was anywhere else, anyone else, he might have brought her along. But no one else is safe. No one within the Bureau, no one else in this world. He can only count on his family to get through this time. “We don’t even know if they’re receiving our letters.”

He turns from them. “They’ll answer me.”

With that said, Davenport returns to the Starblaster, Captain following. She’s the only one from the Bureau that does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad y'all are enjoying the fic so far! I have quite a bit written, just pieces I have to connect. Keep your eyes out for more!


	5. Hold Onto Something

_Death isn’t what he’s expecting._

_He has heard it described by Magnus, by Barry and Taako and all those who had fallen before him. They described it as a moment of fear, and then of darkness. That wasn’t the worst part, they’d said; coming back was worse. Breathing into old lungs for the first time. Feeling the world pull you apart once you had finally found peace. Coming back with the knowledge that it will all happen again, if not that Cycle than the next. Death isn’t the worst part, they’d said. Living is._

_But their descriptions of life and death could never compare to the real thing. A minute before a screaming crowd, demanding blood for what he and his crew had done. A moment to send a word of spite up to gods that had long since abandoned him. A second to take his last breath of air before his life on this Cycle ended, and then it’s stolen from him. His body protests for as long as it can, but not even his stubbornness and spite can outdo death. Blackness surrounds him. For a brief moment, he knows peace. For a moment, he is at peace._

_And then light._

Captain Davenport wakes with a quieted start, voice muffled by a century’s worth of nightmares. For a brief moment, he expects to be in the bridge, at the wheel. His crew around him, safe and sound and finally reunited. Magnus rushing to his side, Lucretia standing back to give him space to breathe. Lup and Taako clinging to each other, unsure of whether to rush forward or stand back, as Barry takes the wheel and Merle kneels opposite their Chief of Security. He expects to be back home, stuck in that godsforesaken purgatory with his family reunited once more at the start of a new year, a new cycle. But their days of Cycles are long over, of loss and rebirth, of danger and safety.

He’s home, but there’s no crew to greet him. No warm hands on his shoulders, no humans with gazes too old for developing faces. There’s no Merle to laugh with him then, only to comfort him later. No Lup, no Taako to make him a welcome home meal and tease him for eating so slow, despite all of their appetites waning. None of his family are there to chase away the memories of death, even as he insists he’s fine.  

A sob escapes, the only moment of weakness he’ll allow himself, and Davenport buries his face in his hands. He’ll find them, he tells himself. He’ll find them and bring them home.

When he finally falls back asleep, hours later, it’s with Captain curled gently against his side.

* * *

The kitchen isn’t the same without the Twins. It’s too still, too quiet. He can make eggs and a cup of coffee all he wants, but there’s no love behind the food he devours. There is only nutrition and the need to keep moving forward, to find those he had lost. Peace and quiet isn’t what it used to be, he thinks as he shovels in another mouthful of food.

“Captain Davenport?”

But at least now he has company.

He’s tired, exhausted from a fitful sleep, but still Davenport puts on his Captain’s mask and turns to the boy. Angus stands before him, still in his nightclothes. There are bags under the boy’s eyes, and his face is flushed. Apparently he isn’t the only one who had trouble sleeping. Captain seems to notice something is wrong and moves from Davenport’s side to the boy, who immediately kneels to scratch at her ears, coo at her. A tender moment after so many nightmares.

Davenport turns from the two, opening the newly stocked fridge, and rummages for a moment. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, sir.” He hops up onto one of the barstools, little legs scrambling, and soon is sitting as straight as possible. “Do you have any cereal? Fantasy Fruit Loops?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” It’s said with a smile, with as much gentleness as the gnome can muster. The last few days had been hard on all of them. They lived without their families, without the comforts of the homes they had built. And on top of it all, the three had been working nonstop. They’d sent off letters, set down briefly to contact their allies directly. They’d even found Roswell and sent them off with a message for the people of Refuge. Davenport tsk’s as he opens the cabinet, takes a moment to peak around. “Looks like we’re fresh outta Loops. Fantasy Cheerios all right?”

Angus scrunches his face, but nods. Once the bowl’s been poured and served, the boy shovels the first spoonful into his mouth. Despite his earlier complaints, he seemed to take to the Cheerios well enough. Halfway through the bowl, he makes a muffled noise, pushing it away, and reaches into his pocket. It takes a moment of digging, of Davenport watching intently, before the boy removes a small envelope. It’s placed on the counter, nudged out towards the Captain, and soon Angus returns to his breakfast.

Davenport doesn’t have to ask. He can see the signature on the letter, see that it’s addressed to him by handwriting he knows too well. He and their allies had been communicating nonstop for the past few days, each letter the same. No news of the birds. No news of the crew. But each one he devours eagerly, and this one is no different. He snatches the envelope off the table, tearing it open, and finds the contents thicker than before. Five pages worth of details, nearly double any other letter he’d received. And at the very end, two signatures, each signed with a small flower.

“They found him,” he says, and can’t help but laugh. His mouth feels dry, his heart pounding in his throat. Angus looks up at him, a mix of hope and concern in those dark eyes, abd Davenport places the letter on the counter for him to read. “They found him. Fuck, they…”

He doesn’t take the time to explain; he can do that on the way to Goldcliff, if Angus doesn’t take the opportunity presented. The Captain leaps from the counter, his feet colliding hard with the tiled floor, and hurries towards the bridge.

* * *

“Thank you for coming.” Hurley ducks her head as the three pass through the cave entrance. Davenport doesn’t have to duck, but Sloane almost has to crawl, cursing as the top of her hair scrapes the rocks. As petals fall, he can’t help but feel grateful for his stature. “He’s been like this for… I don’t know. I don’t know how long.”

“One of the urchins found him,” Sloane supplies, once she’s back at her full height. “We can’t seem to contact Magnus or Taako, so we figured—”

Davenport’s ears pin back, and when he speaks, his voice is thick, “They’re all missing. We didn’t… I didn’t want to spread the news around, but— but we needed to know if you had seen them. They’re not just off on a boy’s weekend, they’re... they’re _all_ missing. The boys, Barry, Lup—”

“Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

They walk in uncomfortable silence. Hurley leads them around a bend in the cavern, then down a steep hill. They don’t even have to reach the bottom before Davenport spots the light. He doesn’t have time to think, doesn’t take the time to. Something in him reaches for that light, and so he sprints ahead, ignoring how the women call for him. Merle. He has to find Merle. Davenport leaps over a bolder, sliding to a stop before he finally sees it. Another curse escapes him.

Merle stands in the center of a translucent bubble, arms outstretched, palms extended. His eyes are closed, brows furrowed in concentration. Despite his precarious position, he doesn’t seem to be in pain. Still, Davenport’s stomach twists into knots. Once again, he doesn’t think, doesn’t try to rationalize his actions. All of that is thrown to the wind as he steps forwards to place his hands upon the bubble— only to pull back as a feeling of nausea sweeps over him. Images flash in his mind; a warm beach, stumbling as he tries to orientate himself, children running to him. No, not him; Merle. Whatever is in there, whatever he saw, it’s what Merle is experiencing in this moment. Davenport rests a hand on his stomach, turning to the dryads.

“What is it?”

“We don’t know,” Hurley admits, softening her voice. Sloane joins them, standing at her girlfriend’s side, and the two intertwine their fingers. A pang of something— sorrow, he realizes with mild concern— pangs his heart. “A child discovered him a few days ago, like I said, and he’s… he’s just been like that ever since. At first we thought it was something to do with Pan, or something clerical, but—”

“—but it isn’t.” Sloane finishes, giving Hurley’s hand a gentle squeeze. “He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t even stirred. All we know is that it’s… it’s some sort of Abjuration magic, but it’s nothing we’ve seen before.”

“Nothing that should last this long.”

“There’s illusion magic in it, as well,” he adds, stepping forward.

He may not have started out the most confident in his magic, but he’s grown. A century of practice will do that to any person. The past three years have helped, as well; he’s only had himself to rely upon, aside from the occasional visits from his family. He can do this. He _has_ to do this. For Merle. For his family. For the last piece of love he has in his heart. Davenport places a hand on the bubble, but this time he’s ready. He closes his eyes, steels himself against the images.

Moments of confusion, of not quite knowing who he is, overwhelm him. It’s nauseating, too familiar, but still he pushes onward. Past memories of Merle’s children running towards him, laughing as they tackle their father; past moments of what might have been. Merle on the beach, grandchildren running around him, a wife by his side, sand between his toes. Laughing with John over a game of Chess as the sunsets behind him. Peaceful moments. Good moments. But they’re not real. This isn’t real.

His hands find one of Merle’s.

As soon as they touch, Davenport feels himself separating from the dwarf. No longer is he seeing through Merle’s eyes, but instead his own. The illusions play around them but, in that moment, all they see is each other. A soft noise escapes him, and Davenport reaches up, to gently touch the dwarf’s face. Solid; warm; his beard scratchy beneath the gnome’s hands. Tears prick at his eyes.

“It’s not real.”

Merle looks away from him, taking a moment to watch the scenes play out once more. Children, sunset at the beach, a moment longer with John. Everything he had ever wanted— or rather, everything someone else might have thought he wanted. He already had a family in the crew. He already had children of his own, both biologically and not. And there is no place left in this world for John Hunger. As it is, the dwarf nods. His beard twitches as a small, sad smile crosses his lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I figured.”

“I think it’s time to come home.”

Raising his hands, Merle’s thicker fingers rest atop Davenport’s, solid and warm and real.

“Then bring me home, Dav.”

Two hands on each of Davenport’s shoulders pull him back, away. Merle fades away, and soon the world forms around him once more. The cave, the dryads behind him. Each holding him, supporting his weight as the barrier begins to ripple. Davenport lifts a hand, brushing off their aid, and takes a deep breath. The images were too vivid, too real. He can still taste the salt in the air even now.

The bubble fades from around Merle, and the dwarf sinks to his knees before falling forward. Hurley and Sloane hurry forward, but Davenport is closer. He rolls Merle onto his back, cradling the dwarf’s head on the his knees. He’s breathing, Davenport notes, and touches a hand to Merle’s face.

Hurley kneels next to them, rubbing her hands together, as Sloane stands back, murmuring, “Is he…?”

“He’s alive.”

“He’ll be fine,” Hurley assures, pressing her hands against the dwarf’s chest. It takes a moment for her magic to run its course, but then Merle jolts, eyes snapping open. Hurley stands back, fingers intertwining with Sloane, and the two smile. Hurley rests her head on Sloane’s shoulder as Davenport curls around the dwarf.

“Welcome back, Merle.”

“Hey, yeah,” his voice is quiet, rough from lack of use, but still he lifts a hand, to point a finger at the two women. His eyes are cloudy, glazed over. His breathing is shallow. But he’s alive, and sometimes that’s all that matters. “Still lookin’ good. You, too, Dav. But, uh— got an important question here. What the fuck?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that.”

* * *

Pain, sharp and stabbing, starts at her heart as the barrier fades. For a moment, the world fades from around her, darkness closing in. She screams, and it’s silenced by her own barrier, the wind stealing her voice. The storm silencing her grief. Tears she can’t shed blossom in the corners of her eyes.

Merle.

Merle.

 _Merle_.

She can’t feel him anymore. She can’t hear his heartbeat, sense the calmness that had so often offered comfort even in the worst of times. He’s gone. He’s gone, and she had failed him once again. He will be the last, she tells herself. First Davenport, and now her other father? They will be the last she fails. Lucretia redirects her magic from his barrier to the others, strengthening them. They may have stolen her father, but they wouldn’t get her siblings.

She would make sure of that.

* * *

“I’m tellin’ ya,” he says, accepting the cup of tea Hurley offers, “I don’t really remember much. I was stayin’ at Dav’s. I’d finished makin’ some lavender tea, and then I heard— or, I guess, I thought I’d heard Dav callin’ out for me. Went outside, went on shore, and then… Hell, and then you guys were standin’ over me like I’d gone and died or something.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Sloane says, but there’s a smile on her face. She sits on the corner of Hurley’s desk, one leg crossed over the other. “We knew you hadn’t died. Hurls is a good healer, but not that good.”

“Yeah,” the dwarf laughs, but it’s different. Empty, hollow. There are bags under his eyes, something that had never looked right on such a peaceful face. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Still, always nice to get attention from a pair of pretty ladies.”

He laughs again as Davenport hits him across the arm. Sloane and Hurley share a knowing look, mouths twitching as they both suppress a smile. At least the barrier magic didn’t seem to have affected him that much. Davenport remains mostly quiet for the next hour as Merle and the dryads catch up, sometimes laughing, sometimes quietly contemplating what could have happened to the other birds. All the while, he kept a close eye on the dwarf, notating any changes in his behavior.

When their transportation arrives, both of the men say their goodbyes. Merle offers each of the women an embrace, murmured gratitude from Pan. He’d only spent a week in that place, trapped and imprisoned, but who knows how long it would have been without their help? Without the urchin that had stumbled upon him? Neither of them want to think about it. Davenport intertwines his fingers with Merle’s as the two climb back onto the Starblaster. Angus chattering, crowing Merle, with Kravitz asking hushed questions, trying to retrain his son. The Captain takes his place at the helm, pulling from the dock.

If it wasn’t for sheer luck, Merle would still be trapped. They would still be stuck at the beginning, with no one but each other to get them through the days. One man, especially one as hopeful as Merle, is certainly better than another day of loneliness.

“We’re going to find them.” Said dwarf leans against Davenport, elbow his side gently. “You know we will.”

Yeah.” he pulls the Starblaster up, off the ground, back into the sanctuary of the clouds. A quick glance-over shows him the dwarf’s state; tired, bags under his eyes, a sunken look on his face. He’s exhausted, worn out by the prison. Davenport turns from him, navigating through the stratosphere, “Yeah, I guess. Look, uh… I appreciate you bein’ here, Merle, but this isn’t anything I can’t handle. Go get you some sleep. Get something to eat. We can discuss this later.”

Waving his hand, Merle chuckles, “I ain’t leaving you.”

And, as Merle takes a seat next to the Captain’s chair, Davenport remembers what it means to have a crew, a family.


	6. Who Sets You Free

“You left these behind.”

It hasn’t even been a day since they recovered Merle, but the absence of his Holy Script, of the robe across his shoulders… it’s too much for Davenport. It brings up too many memories, a year and a half of his boys not knowing who they are, of not knowing who they were destined to be. His crew, the saviors of Faerun. His _family_. And so he offers out that which had been taken from Merle; the Xtreme Teen Bible and his robe, along with a small cup of lavender tea. The dwarf smiles.

“Yeah. Didn’t have… didn’t have much time to grab stuff,” Merle admits, giving a shrug. He places the Bible next to him on the bed, but takes the robe and shrugs it on. Something in Davenport twists, a mix of elation and concern bubbling up all at once, as pieces click together. “But, y’know, when you’re in a rush, you’re in a rush.”

“Yeah.”

The two settle in an uncomfortable silence for a moment. There’s too much there, too much between them— too much that _separates_ them. They’ve grown closer over the past three years, building atop the century before, but… but, gods above, whatever is after them has torn them both apart. Perhaps not apart from each other, but the damage has been done. Merle’s eyes are sunken, his voice not as boisterous as before. He holds himself differently now, in a way that tears at the Captain. Davenport takes a deep breath.

“Merle, I—”

“Have a seat, Dav.” He pats the space behind him. There is a moment of hesitation from the gnome, but Merle repeats the motion. The bed bends beneath his weight, and Merle takes the opportunity to lean against him, to close his eyes. “Look, you… you don’t have to apologize. There’s a lot of shit goin’ on here, a lot we don’t know. I may not be the smartest dwarf alive, but I’m here. You got me back, and that’s a damned lot more than I could do on my own. Than any of us coulda done.”

“You always sell yourself short, Merle.”

Davenport closes his eyes as well, and for a moment just lets his other senses take over. The smell of worn wood, of lavender fill his nose; warm and safe, like the home he had once known. The sound of Merle’s breathing, deep and calming. How is he able to stay so calm, even at a time like this? The feel of his beard, of body heat he so desperately needs, and yet doesn’t deserve. It’s too much, too much at a time like this, and yet not enough.

“Easy, Dav.” Merle’s hand presses against his cheek. “You’re overthinking again.”

“You can’t, can’t prove anything.”

“Mmhmm.” There’s a hint of laughter beneath the sound. He doesn’t point out Davenport’s stuttering, a fact the gnome is thankful for. “You’re breathing awfully quick for someone who’s not overthinking anything.”

Was he? Shit.

“I’m sorry.”

Merle reaches over, to rest a hand atop his, and gives a squeeze. “Stop apologizing, Dav. Just… stop, for one moment. Stop thinking, stop worrying. Worrying don’t solve anything. Worryin’ didn’t get me back. It certainly won’t get the rest of our family back.”

“I know.” He opens his mouth to apologize once more, but a quick look from Merle has his mouth snapping shut. Instead, Davenport smiles. It’s small, weak, but the best he can manage, given the situation. “I just wish there was more that I could do. It’s been a week, Merle, and I, I don’t know if we can do this.”

“We can, and we will.” Another squeeze. “We’ve done it before, and we’ll do it again. There’s nothin’ to worry about.”

Davenport wishes he could believe that.

* * *

Two weeks later, they get another letter.

This one is brought to them by a familiar flycatcher, perched atop the Starblaster’s guardrails. They stretch their wings, chirp playfully as Davenport takes the letter. They shift perches, choosing Merle’s shoulder instead, as he reads through. The very last page is signed with a playful ladybug and a heart. Merle laughs.

“Set a course for Refuge,” orders the Captain, tucking the letter into his breast pocket. “We’ll be there by sunrise.”

It takes him a moment to remember Barry isn’t there.

* * *

“I never thought I’d ever seen this place again.”

Davenport gives Merle a sympathetic glance. He may not have been fully there for the events of Refuge, but he’d heard enough. He’d learned more, once others had filled him in. A town caught in a time loop of their own doing. A young girl watching her father murdered by another man who wanted the Chalice. Seven years of horror, for what? Eleven extra deaths added onto the boys’ tally, and for what? For an entire town. For the people that lived here, and the people of Faerun. It hadn’t been easy on them; he knows that much. But, looking at the thriving town before him, he also knows it was worth it. Maybe not to him; nothing in the world is worth what his family went through. But to Magnus? To the people of this town? It was. It is.

They had been the ones that had destroyed the world, and they had been the only ones that could spare it.

“Merle!” A young girl, no older than eighteen, breaks the silence that overtook the town. Appearing from within one of the building, she runs towards them, tearing Davenport from his thoughts. A yellow dress billows around her legs as she pushes her feet to carry her the last hundred yards between them. She doesn’t stop to greet them; doesn’t introduce herself to the newcomer. Instead, she skids to a stop in front of the pair and falls to her knees. Her arms wrap tightly around Merle’s shoulders. “It’s so good to see you!”

“You, too, Junebug.” He claps his hand, flesh not wooden, against her back. So much softer now that he was Merle again, so much gentler with children now that he knows the truth. It tugs at Davenport’s heart in a way not many other things had. “Wish I could say it was under better circumstances.”

His words sober the girl’s attitude, and June pulls from him. She straightens, clasping her hands in front of her, and her smile falls. Though she tries to look older, look stronger, Davenport can see the way her bottom lip wobbles. His heart breaks. Another child whose life they had ruined. Another child who looked at him with not love or wonder, but a weight her shoulders were never meant to carry. June finally glanced down at him, bows her head in greeting, and he returns the motion.

“You must be Captain Davenport.”

He takes the hand she extends, squeezing gently. “It’s nice to finally meet you, June. I’ve heard a great deal about you from Magnus.” A brief pause. “But there will be time for pleasantries later. You said you found him?”

She nods again, this time stronger. Behind her, Davenport can see others coming out of their homes, their places of business. Some brighten when they see Merle, while others seem to soften, sympathy clouding their faces. It’s enough to make his ears pin back. He doesn’t need their sympathy, but he does need their help.

“It took a while,” June continues, and turns to lead them down the road. As she walks, Davenport notes her bare feet, the small axe at her hip. Definitely the sort of girl he could imagine Magnus taking in, training. “When Roswell brought back your message, we organized a search party. We weren’t sure if he would be here, but… but it couldn’t hurt to look. Not after everything you and your family did for us.”

“All part of the job.” Merle’s grinning, but Davenport can hear the sorrow in his voice. “Let me tell ya, it ain’t easy to get ahold of ole Roswell now that they got their wings back, but they came through.”

“They always do.” She holds open the door to the saloon; empty now, save for the drow woman behind the counter and the half-orc settled across from her. “Cassidy and I found him down in the mines, where I— where…”

“I know, squirt.” The dwarf claps his hand on her back once more, nods his head at the drow. “Heya, Ren.”

Ren returns the nod. She’s already prepared two drinks and offers them forward, leaning on the counter. She’s tired, that much is obvious; with bags under her eyes, ears drooped. Even her voice seems subdued. But still, she smiles as Merle takes the pint. “Any news on Taako?”

It’s Davenport who shakes his head and answers, “Not yet, but the Raven Queen and Istus both have every man they can spare looking for him.”

“Whatcha see is whatcha get,” Merle finishes, motioning to the pair. He nudges the second pint towards Davenport, but the gnome ignores it. His stomach can’t handle alcohol right now. Can’t really handle much of anything. “But once we get Magnus, we’ll be halfway there. How’s he doin’?”

The three women exchange a knowing and worried look. June looks away, hands clasping at her skirt, and Ren chews at her bottom lip. Davenport feels the world tilt. But despite their silence, it’s the half-orc, Cassidy, that finally breaks the silence.

“Now, I think that’s somethin’ y’all gotta see for yourself.”

* * *

Magnus is exactly where June said he would be, tucked away in the bottom of a mineshaft. Hidden from view, just as Merle had been. Davenport doubts they would have found him on their own. Just like Merle, and undoubtedly just as the rest of their family would be. But unlike Merle, Magnus isn’t at peace with his situation.

He, too, floats within an opaque bubble. But instead of meditating or sleeping— or whatever it was Merle was doing within his prison— Magnus is curled in on himself. His body seems to convulse every few moments, face twisting into a pained sob, only to reset as soon as it’s passed. Not like Merle. Nothing like the dwarf at all, and Davenport knows. He has to see, has to try to pull him free, as he had done before.

Merle steps forward, but Davenport cuts him off. This is his crew, his mission, and he won’t put them in any more danger than is necessary. Take a deep breath, plunge.

As soon as his hands come in contact with the bubble, images flash in his mind. Phandalin, burnt and destroyed. Noelle, the halfling he’d only heard of, screaming as her body is consumed. Barry, just moments before, as Gundren disintegrates him. Lup and Taako, struck down as he— as _Magnus_ — can only watch in horror. Lucretia as she takes a fatal blow for her brother all those cycles ago. Death after death play before his eyes; some he knows to be true, other merely figments of this horrible trap. The Hunger consuming his family, all of Faerun. Merle as he’s torn apart—

Merle with his arms around Davenport, pulling him back as the visions fade. He’s murmuring gentle words, words only he can hear, and the gnome is horrified to realize his face is hot, wet with tears. His hands are trembling. Davenport struggles to find some sort of pattern, eight breaths, five taps against his thighs, but nothing is working. Only Merle keeps him grounded. Only Merle is able to push the tide away, until he no longer feels as though he’s drowning.

“I can’t,” he whispers, and hates himself as soon as he’s said it. “I can’t reach him.”

“It’s just an illusion,” the dwarf says finally, loud enough for all to hear. Cassidy standing back, her hand on June’s shoulder, nods. “That’s all this thing is. He’s not in pain.”

“Not physically,” Davenport snarls, before he can stop himself. The guilt is subsiding, becoming something more. Becoming anger, rage. His hands clench into fists down by his side, to keep them from shaking. Magnus is twitching, mouth opening; he’s screaming, they can all see that, and they can’t help him. “We’ll need to— We need to figure out how to break it.”

If Cassidy was fooled by Merle’s words, June isn’t. She steps forward, moving to stand beside the Captain. Something glints in her hand, and it only takes Davenport a second’s glance to realize she’s withdrawn her axe. Her hand is unsteady, trembling slightly, but there’s a confidence in her eyes he had once seen in Magnus. Long ago, before the decade, before the century, even. Pride warms his chest, and Davenport nods. An unseen command. Merle’s lips twitch beneath his beard. He opens the Xtreme Teen Bible, stepping to the other side of June.

“I can try to Dispel some of it,” he says, and already his wooden hand is lifted. Power swarms around the dwarf. Hibiscuses bloom along his wrist. His smile turns into a grin. “Seems like I got a bit of help, as well.”

Davenport takes a deep breath, turning his sight onto the barrier. “On my count.”

The order is given, and Merle lowers his hand. A wind from nowhere sweeps past them, smashing into the barrier. The semi-translucent bubble wobbles, suddenly unsteady, and June takes that as her cue. She leaps forward, and brings her weapon down two-handed. She’s young, such a little thing, but swings with everything she has in her. A cry escapes her lips. It isn’t much, but it’s enough. It’s enough to cause the barrier to wobble once more, then go perfectly still, as if straining against itself.

It pops.

Unlike Merle’s, the bubble doesn’t fade away. It _pops_ with a sickening wet noise, releasing its captive. Magnus falls to the floor, curled in on himself, and June hurries forward. Part of Davenport wants to stop her, but something stops _him_. He can only watch as she kneels beside her hero, brushing stray hair from his face. She’s murmuring to him in words that only bring out her accent, in a tone that reverses their roles. For a brief moment, he can see the woman behind the girl; the woman who saved this town, and helped his boys. The rage in his chest subsides, becoming something softer, kinder.

“Junebug?” Magnus’ voice is strained, rough and thick with emotion. But by the gods above, it’s _enough_. It’s enough to earn a laugh from the girl, who throws herself across his chest; enough to earn a hearty chuckle from Merle, and even a smile from the Captain himself. “How did… What…?”

“You’re safe now, Magnus,” she says, and tightens her grip on his shirt. She only moves when he struggles to sit up, and even then doesn’t go far. One hand remains behind his back, ready to catch him should he fall. “Not too fast.”

Merle kneels beside the both of them, extending his wooden hand. The Hibiscuses seem to react to Magnus, bending in a nonexistent breeze as a softer sort of magic courses through them both. “Easy there, Mags. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

Magnus’ face contorts for a moment, as if thinking, and then he finally turns to look at all of them. At Merle, at June, at Cassidy, and then finally Davenport. His eyes are much like Merle’s were, empty and cloudy, but still he’s able to see. He takes a moment to take them all in, to identify their current situation, and then it clicks. The man struggles to stand. June pushes him back down.

“ _Lucretia_.” His sister’s name is a plea, a sob.

“We haven’t found her yet.”

Magnus shakes his head, and June moves back, granting him the room he needs. He takes a moment to gather himself; a moment they all allow him. Slowly, he pushes himself to his feet. June moves between his side and his arm, and reluctantly he allows the aid. His tongue flicks out, to moisten his lips, but still his voice breaks as he says, “No. No, you don’t understand. That’s— Lucretia. I heard her, before you… What happened?”

“It was just an illusion.” Even as Davenport says it, the images return. Their family, slain, their friends murdered. It had been too much for even the Captain. What had it been like for their _Protector_? “That’s all it was.”

“No. No, it wasn’t. Not that. Not…” He trails off as June slips her little hand atop his. Magnus glances down at her, then takes a trembling breath. “All right. All right. We’ll… We’ll talk about it later. Let’s get out of here. I’m _starving_.”

Some things never change.

* * *

She feels another barrier fall, and Magnus slips from her fingers. Desperate, the woman tries to hold on, tries to feel his pulse through her magic. But no matter how hard she stretches, how far she reaches, there’s no sign of him. His laughter echoes in her ears. The mannequin, emotionless and dead, appears in the forefront of her vision.

And just like that, it’s all gone. He’s gone. And she is alone once more.

Rage pulses in her chest, voices whispering in the back of her head. They hadn’t been able to save Davenport. Merle had been stolen from her grasp, and now… and now _Magnus_. Her big brother, the one person who’s always been by her side. The two men who had jumped to her defense, even when she’d done the indefensible. Tears fall, rolling down her cheeks, hot and wet. Magic thuds in her very core.

_They’re closing in on your family._

_They’re going to take them from you._

_How many more must have their wings clipped?_

I’m trying, she wants to say. Darkness creeps in, from the corners of her vision. Her hands tremble as colors— red and green and blue and yellow— spark from her fingertips. In the back of her mind, she hears her family’s voices. Blaming her, berating her. All she had ever wanted was to protect them, and she can’t. She never could.

“I’m sorry.”


	7. House of Clay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only i'd known this house was made of clay
> 
> i'd have built it further from the sea.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay, big guy?”

Magnus reaches down, ruffling June’s hair. “I’m going to be fine. It takes more than an _illusion_ to down Magnus Burnsides!”

Despite his words, his voice sounds hollow. Davenport doesn’t fall for it, and neither does June. Her face scrunches, lips pressing into a frown, but still she nods. The girl reaches forward, wrapping her arms tight around Magnus’ middle. Magnus seems to crumple around her, enveloping her in a typical Magnus Hug. Her feet lift briefly off the ground. Davenport swears he hears her back crack, but it’s drowned out by the sound of her laughter.

“Stay safe, Junebug.”

He climbs aboard the Starblaster, but instead of returning to Refuge, June turns to Davenport. Her eyes are colder now, harder. She clasps her hands behind her back, plants her bare feet. Oh, no.

“Permission to come aboard, sir?”

Okay, well. Not _exactly_ what he had been expecting.

Eighteen years old, barely even able to handle her axe, June stands with all the confidence of seven armies. Her head is lifted, her shoulders squared. She looks every bit the crewmember Magnus and Lucretia had been at her age. He feels something within him _twist_ at the memory. They had been too young for the journey ahead, too naive, too unprepared. But June endured her own encounter with the Relics. She had survived. The question of her survival isn’t important, he reminds himself; it is whether or not she can be trusted.

“At ease.” He can’t help but smile as she relaxes, one hand on her waist. “For what purpose?”

“To help,” she admits and nods her head, as if it is the most obvious answer in the world. Perhaps it is. “To offer any sort of aid I can. Y’all are without over half your crew, and I don’t doubt Merle or Magnus— they _saved my life_ , sir. They saved all of Refuge, Faerun. Y’all saved our plane and many more. I’m not nearly the Fighter Magnus is, and I don’t have any sort of magical capabilities, but I’m willing to learn. I _want_ to learn. And y’all can’t do this alone.”

He’s struggling to hide his smile, to keep the Captain persona. But he can’t help himself; June is too much like Magnus, too much like the kid that had swaggered onto his ship and matured into their _Protector_. He wouldn’t put it past June to step into that role, but her strength is not what is in question. He doesn’t even really doubt she is truly on their side. No, his concern lies with whether or not he can put that weight on her shoulders. Their relics had already torn her apart once. Could he really ask this of her?

As if she could hear his thoughts, June continues, “You can give me permission, or you can deny me, sir, but I am boarding this ship.” Her eyes shift from him to the Starblaster. Smiling, “Magnus needs me, sir. I kept my city safe until help could arrive. Allow me to do the same for you.”

“And for him?” It’s less of a question and more of a statement at this point, but still she nods in response.

“And for him.”

He sighs softly, but moves aside. Bare feet slap against metal as June rushes aboard, and yet again he can’t help but think of Magnus, in all his rambunctious youth. A confident smile, a need to protect. A strength on his shoulders he was never meant to carry. Gods above, what has he done?

“Y’all take care of her.” Cassidy now, watching the girl disappear within the confines of his ship. She crosses her arms over her chest, whether to protect herself or to threaten Davenport is unclear. “I ain’t entirely sure she’s ready for this.”

“That makes two of us.”

* * *

 

Davenport sets a course for the Bureau.

Merle stands beside him, silent save for a whispered, “The kid needs you.”

* * *

 

Settled between his adopted fathers, Magnus sits. He has a cup of something warm in his hands; tea or cider, knowing Merle. Though he hasn’t sipped from it yet, just its presence seems to be enough to still his hands, to steady his breathing. Davenport doesn’t have to ask what he saw, and even if he did, he wouldn’t have. Not with the way the fighter’s eyes seemed to well every few minutes, the way he constantly kept checking to assure himself his Captain and Cleric are still with him. It always amazed Davenport how someone so big, even for a human, could make himself seem so small.

“Where should I start?” Magnus finally says, after taking a sip of his drink. He’s tired, exhausted, but presses on. “I… I can’t promise I’ll be much help, but…”

Merle laughs, but the sound is soft, hollow. He rests a hand on the boy’s arm, pats gently. “I wasn’t much, either, don’tcha worry. Whatever ya got, though, it’ll be more than we had before.”

He nods, perhaps a few more times than is necessary. Davenport takes the chance to lean against him, allowing them both a moment of reprieve. It isn’t same as it had once been; no cuddle piles with six other birds, no nests of blanket and pillows. No Taako to braid his hair, nor Lup to repaint his nails. No Lucretia to weave stories, nor Barry to sleeptalk after all had gone quiet. But even without the rest of their family, it seems to be enough. Gods, is that what they’ve come to? No more reaching for the stars. Simply being _enough_. Perhaps that is all they’ve ever been.

It’s enough for Magnus. The boy takes a deep breath, shifting his grip on the mug, and begins.

“I was… I was up on the moon base, with Lucy. We were— I mean, y’know, she’s lonely now, without all of us around. She’s always lonely. So after her visit to Raven’s Roost was over, I followed her up to the moon. Came up to visit for a few days, to teach her and Captain a few new tricks. She was,” he pauses, laughs softly. “She was so afraid that good girl was going to jump right over the guardrails, but I can train a dog real well. She never once left Lucy’s side, and only would if Lucy gave permission. But, um, I was visiting, and Captain had learned a new trick. She knows when to fetch the staff, now. It’s a… a…”

“Comfort item,” Merle supplies, softly, and Magnus nods.

“Yeah. And that was— _really impressive_ , actually. So I went to go get her some treats. And I didn’t… I didn’t think anything about it at the time, but I passed a few members of the Bureau at time. I think, anyways. They had the new bracers on. Waved at them, kept going. I wasn’t gone but a few minutes. It wasn’t… It wasn’t even ten minutes, and then the alarms sounded. I don’t even think I paid Garfield for the treats. I just took off. I had to find her. And then I ran into someone, and it…”

He breaks off, the mug slipping from between his fingers. Davenport is quick, catching it with his tail, but his eyes never leave the boy’s. Tears once more well in his eyes. His shoulders tremble as he struggles to hold back sobs, until finally Magnus buries his face in his hands. A sob escapes.

“I shouldn’t have left her.”

“This ain’t your fault, kid.”

Davenport nods, placing the mug aside. “We’ve had this conversation before, and we will have it again, I’m sure. What happened isn’t your fault. What— what others choose to do is not on your shoulders, for better or worse. All that matters now is finding everyone else. That is what we are to focus on. No self-blame. No self-doubt. Our family deserves better than that.”

“Captain—”

“That is an order.” He says, and Magnus smiles. He hasn’t been their Captain for quite a while now, but perhaps he always will be. It’s a weight he carries with pride, and perhaps a bit of pain. “I’ve got Angus looking for Taako and Barry, but there’s no trace of Lup or Lucretia. The Bureau is doing what they can without a leader. They’re scattered, though. Essentially useless. Istus and the Raven Queen are also supplying all the aid they can, and with Merle here, we can undoubtedly get Pan involved, as well.”

Merle shoots their Captain a pair of finger guns. “Ole Pan’s always got our backs.”

He nods once again, stiff and quick.

“Magnus, your room is as you left it. Merle, the bridge with me. We have a lot of ground to cover, and our family to find.”

* * *

“If I die, will they be free?”

_Don’t talk like that._

_You are the only thing keeping them safe._

_You are the only one that can save them._

“Then why do I feel so hollow?”

* * *

“Captain Davenport?”

It’s been three days since they’d found Magnus, and still nothing. No word from any of their allies. Even the Bureau was coming up empty, but swore they were checking everything. He wants to believe them. He so _desperately_ wants to believe them. Carey and Killian had fought beside them during the Day of Story  & Song. They stood beside Lucretia, even as the Voidfish revealed its truths to them. But despite everything, they were still coming up empty handed.

At least the children seemed to be getting somewhere. Angus and June had found a common bond in their need to help, and since had taken to researching all they could. So far, Goldcliff and Refuge; two of the towns they had saved. Wonderland was destroyed; no use in searching there. Rockport was coming up empty, as well, and even the Neverwinter police couldn’t offer Angus any leads. Still, the pair weren’t disheartened by their failures. They continue forward, a lesson he needs to learn.

The Captain switches the Starblaster into autopilot and then turns, swiveling in his chair. Sure enough, June and Angus stand in the doorway, each dwarfed by the amount of books in their hands. Some are older, some from their homeworld, but others are well-loved; thin and blue, with silver trim along the edges. Lucretia’s journals, he realizes, and feels his heart leap into his throat. There’s a moment of panic swelling within him, panic he struggles to calm.

“Where did you get those?” He’s already hurrying across the bridge, to relieve the children of a portion of their burden. Eighteen and thirteen, and still so very young. He takes a few of the older volumes from Angus. “What are you doing with them?”

The children give each other a look. Perhaps the words had come off harsher than he had been expecting, but could anyone really blame him? He’d thought the journals in Lucretia’s office, or destroyed, or lost, or… anywhere but still within the _Starblaster_. Why would she keep them here? Despite his rushing thoughts, he children don’t seem to be disturbed by his tone, and June steps forward. She places her pile of books on a nearby desk, removing and opening the top volume, and Angus hurries to join her.

“Angus and I were reading through some of these,” she says, and motions vaguely to the gathered volumes, “and we found… Well, we found a lot. Some of the things we already knew from the Voidfish, but others—”

“—others we never knew!” Angus chimes in, eyes shining behind his glasses. He opens one of Lucretia’s journals, pointing to an entry. Davenport can’t look at them. “There’s entire sections here about Merle’s contact with the Hunger. June and I— uh, we’ve been reading up on it. We didn’t know where else to turn, with all our leads drying up. And there’s some good stuff in here! I know we really should talk to Merle, but he’s busy taking care of Magnus at the moment, sir.”

“Why are you looking at the Hunger? Our main concern is finding the rest of my crew, not…” He trails off as the heat leaves him, rage and panic fading, and Davenport sighs. One hand lifts, to rub over his face. “All right. All right. Why are you telling me this? What did you find?”

Angus and June hesitate, glancing over at each other. He knows he’s said the wrong thing, but time is of the essence. They’re just children, he tells himself. June is no older than Lucretia was at the start of their journey. Angus is even younger. He has to be careful with them, especially in these tremulous times. Lucretia and Magnus were destroyed by their century-long journey; he couldn’t risk doing the same to them. So instead of chiding, Davenport nods his head once more. That’s all they need.

“Lucretia, uh—” June glances down at Angus, who motions for her to continue. He’s beaming, proud. “She mentions that John found some sort of… _terrible truth_. He had a horrible realization, and that’s… that’s why he became what he is. What he was. Now, all of this was gathered from Merle, of course, so he might know more about this, but from what we read, and what we’ve gathered doing our own research...”

“No.” Davenport shakes his head. He struggles to find numbers, letters, patterns; anything to quell the rising fear. The Hunger was long since destroyed. They’d won. They’d saved the day. “No, I refuse to—”

“It’s the only logical conclusion, sir,” Angus murmurs. There are tears in his eyes, but his voice doesn’t waver. He points to another journal, opened on _Cycle 65_ , written in shaky handwriting. The memories come swirling back, threatening to overtake the Captain, but Angus’ voice brings him back, “There have been heavier punishments for lighter crimes. We all know this. There are those who have been punished for trying to survive, and there are those who worshiped the way the judges lived. Whoever is doing this isn’t just trying to hurt you.”

He struggles to maintain his composure. He’s failing.“Please, Angus, get to the point.”

“They’re… I hate to say it, sir, but I don’t think this is simply a punishment. This is someone _worshiping_ another who considered himself a judge. They’re—”

It hits him like the broadside of the Starblaster, and Davenport stumbles back. One hand over his stomach, the other reaching behind him, trying to find something stable. Someone is out there, stealing his family. Merle may not have been in pain, but Magnus— Oh, Magnus. They were torturing him. They’re _torturing_ his family. Someone is out there, trying to make them— trying to—

“They want to recreate the Hunger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [drops the mic]


	8. Storms are Coming

As soon as he can calm himself, Davenport calls for a family meeting.

It isn’t a true family meeting, not with half of them still missing, but it’s all they have. June comes as well, to help push through the parts he can’t say; to present her and Angus’ findings while the boy hurries off to accompany Kravitz. What a sorry sort they look, he can’t help but think. A gnome and a frazzled girl with nothing to show but a single theory after _days_ of work.

The pair wait for the others in the common room, Davenport standing with his hands behind his back and June nestled in a pile of blankets and pillows. Despite all that had transpired, the room is a safe spot for the family. It has been, ever since the first “sleepover” during their century-long journey. He can’t remember the year, not exactly, but he can narrow down the years. Somewhere around the early or middle teens, just after a reset. Somewhere after a terrible cycle, when nearly half their crew had—

Davenport tries not to dwell on _that_ intrusive thought as Magnus enters, settling next to June. The girl doesn’t hesitate. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he, in turn, wraps an arm around her. He still looks tired, so very tired, but he’s there. He’s aware. And at the moment, that is all they can ask of him. Merle enters next, and takes a spot on the couch. His spot. He gives the pair a sympathetic glance, and then offers another to their Captain. Davenport looks away.

“What’s going on?” Magnus’ voice trembles, and Davenport struggles to ignore the way his stomach twists. The Fighter glances over at Merle, who shrugs, and then once more back at their Captain. “...Sir?”

Their Captain clears his throat, falters, and then tries once more.

“As you know, June and Angus have both spent the last few days scouring the library, and even going through a few of Lucretia’s journals.” He tries to ignore how his heart thuds once more at the thought. “Like most of our allies, a lot of what they found led nowhere. Whoever is after us isn’t just looking for revenge. They aren’t someone we’ve dealt with before, and that makes them unpredictable. It makes—”

“Dav,” Merle murmurs, in a tone that tells him he’s rambling.

No one else seems to notice.

“Today, however, they came to me and…” He glances over at June, who nods. “And…”

The girl takes control, shifting. On her knees, facing Merle and Magnus, “Whoever is after your family is not doing it as a punishment for the relics, which was our initial thought. There are still out there who blame you for the Relic War, and the Day of Story and Song. It was the only thing we could think of. But Angus found something in one of Lucretia’s journals that pulled the pieces together.” Her fingers drum against her leg, and Davenport wonders if that’s his doing, another nervous habit passed down. “There’s… There’s no other way to say this except to spit it out.”

“Take your time,” Magnus murmurs, though the look in his eyes tells them differently. He’s anxious, terrified. June reaches over, to rest a small hand over his larger one. “What are they after?”

“That’s just it. They’re not _after_ anything.” Her gaze falls. “They’re using your family to recreate the Hunger.”

There’s a moment of silence. They need a moment to process it. Then the color drains from both their faces. Davenport swears Magnus looks as though he’s going to faint. Merle stands, shaking his head, a hand resting flat over his stomach. He opens his mouth, trying to speak, trying to deny what was just said, trying to insist that there has to be something else. _Some other option_. But when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.

Instead, it’s Magnus who turns to June, eyes wide. “You can’t be serious. Please. Please, tell me you’re joking. They can’t recreate— They can’t. Not with Taako or Barry or— _Lucretia_.”

June turns to look at Davenport, desperation in her eyes, and he takes that as his cue. The Captain steps forward, stealing their attention. For a moment, it slips. _He_ slips. His hands fall from behind his back, his voice coming out in a choked sound of _nothing_. He wants to tell them it’s wrong, that it’s a joke, that it’s nothing but the theory of a small, scared child. He wants to tell them everything but the truth of the matter. But he can’t. He can’t lie to them, not when they need him. He can’t lie to his _family._

“Right now, it’s, it’s only a theory,” he finally says. It’s the closest he can come to denying it all. “June and Angus are still working on putting the pieces together. Angus is currently speaking with the Raven Queen and Istus to see what they’ve learned, and to ask if such a thing is possible. But it’s— it’s the only thing we have, at the moment.”

Merle jumps from the couch, moving towards him, and Davenport squares his spine. He’s ready for anger, for staunch denial, for a demand that they find the truth. He’s ready for anything, except for what transpires. The dwarf grips the front of his jacket, shaking his head, fingers surprisingly strong for how his hands tremble. Tears roll down his cheeks, soaking his beard, and Davenport can only watch in horror as Merle sinks to his knees. He’s pulled down alongside the dwarf.

“We can’t lose them,” Merle chokes out. The Captain curls around him. “We can’t lose them, not to that. Not like…”

_Like John._

* * *

 When they arrive at the Raven Queen’s palace, he knows immediately something is wrong. He can hear the Queen— a nice woman, considering she is the goddess of life and death— murmuring gently to another. Istus, if the quieted sobs are any indication. It’s a moment between the goddesses, between partners. It isn’t there moment. Angus glances up at Kravitz, at his adopted father, and the Reaper gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. They allow another few seconds before Kravitz clears his throat.

“Your Majesty?”

The voices inside the throne room quiet, aside from a single, soft sob. A moment passes, then two, and finally the doors open. The Raven Queen sits at her throne, face stoic beneath her mask. Istus sits next to her lover, trembling hands knitting once more. Her head is bowed, white hair covering her face. Angus doesn’t need his detective skills to know she is still weeping.

“My Queen,” Kravitz attempts to kneel, Angus following his lead, but the Queen simply waves her hand. As he approaches, the Reaper continues, “Angus and June— the girl from Refuge, as I’m sure, sure you know— have discovered what they believe to be the plans of those responsible for what has happened to your Reapers and—”

“Kravit, please.” The Raven Queen’s voice is surprisingly gentle. Kravitz bows his head. She turns to Angus and smiles beneath her mask. The boy hurries forward. “Tell me, Angus. What have you discovered?”

The boy presses his lips together, looking up at the goddess who had once asked him to call her _Grandmother_. The Goddess of Life, of Death. The woman Kravitz sees as a mother. It’s easier to think of her in that way; easier to stand before her as family, and not as the Goddess who had once demanded the boys’ souls. So instead of quaking, as is the normal response to standing before Death Herself, Angus beams and relays what he and June had found.

As he speaks, he sees her smile fall, her grip tighten on the armrests of her throne. Behind her, ravens coo, nuzzling each other. Istus stumbles, misses a stitch in her work. The fabric of fate falls to the floor. Her hands tremble, but the Queen reaches over, to intertwine their fingers. A moment of comfort, all they can offer each other. Kravitz moves forward, but hesitates, and instead remains beside his son. His grip on the scythe tightens once more.

“Have you found anything?” Angus asks softly, once all is revealed. “Anything at all could prove helpful, Your Majesties.”

The Raven Queen opens her mouth to speak, but Istus is faster. She stands, and the Queen can only watch, gaze softening, as her lover lifts one of her knitting needles from her work. Her stitches fall, but neither seem terrible concerned. She doesn’t bother walking, but instead _glides_ down the stairs of the dais to stand before Angus. The boy falls to a knee, head bowed.

Istus kneels before him, her free hand reaching out. Gentle fingers catch his chin and lift it, forcing him to look at her. Her golden eyes are wet with tears, her face soaked, but still she smiles. “Little Angus,” she murmurs, and her voice fills his soul with warmth, with _hope._ “You have done so much for us, and I cannot— I cannot interfere in the same way Raven can. My hands are tied, much like fate itself, but I can offer you a gift.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” The Raven Queen quickly joins the pair, kneeling beside Istus. Her feathered cape billows out around them, and for a moment, Angus swears he hears the muffled laughter of ravens. “We cannot put the boy in anymore danger, Istus. Angus, Kravitz, you two are to remain right here until we can find those responsible and bring them to justice.”

Angus shakes his head. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I will not stand by while my family is in danger. The Director, Taako and Lup, Barry— they _need us_. And you need them.”

“Raven…” Istus reaches out, to rest a hand atop her lover’s, and squeezes. “The boy is right. You’re three Reapers short at the moment, and if Angus’ theories are true, then our birds will need all the help they can get. We cannot stand by and watch any longer. This is the time to _act_.”

The two share a look, lingering for a moment, and Angus quickly looks away. It’s as if he has intruded on a private conversation once again. But then the Raven Queen sighs, both hands returning to her lap, and she pushes herself to her feet.

“I would never deny you anything, my love, though I cannot and do not agree with putting the boy in danger.” She plucks a feather from her cape, offering it to Istus, and the other gasps in delight. “Do what you can.”

Istus takes a moment to pluck a string from her dress, and then accepts the feather. Nimble fingers twist the needle, the feather, the string, as the goddess weaves them together, working her magic now as she had so many times before. When she’s finished, a fine wooden wand rests in her palm— a rich, dark wood with a white swirl burned around the tip— and she offers it out. Angus’ heart leaps into his throat. Kravitz glances down, and a nudge from the scythe forces him to step forward, to accept the gift.

“Consider it a blessing. I once offered the same thing to your father, although in a different package.” she says, and stands before him. She clasps her hands in front her, beaming. “A beacon of light and of hope in these dark times. You must have both if you are ever to defeat something as terrible as the Hunger.”

That snaps him back to the present, and Angus gasps. “Oh! You never— I’m sorry. Thank you, ma’am. I’ll— I’ll take good care of it, I promise! But, and forgive me if this is the wrong time to ask again, but you never did tell us if you’d found anything yet, Your Majesty.”

* * *

Junebug sits on his left, watching him work.

His hands move quickly, shaving away pieces of wood. A collection of discarded shavings sit, piled, near his knee; June’s doing. She’s been cleaning up after him for the past few hours now, and he— he doesn’t have the heart to discourage her. Magnus doesn’t have the heart to do much of anything, except to keep himself busy. He hasn’t said a word since the unofficial family meeting. He _can’t_. There are too many thoughts rushing through his head, too many words waiting to burst free. But every time he opens his mouth, it’s silent.

So instead, he’s taken to working with his hands.

It’s not a duck this time; he wants to do something different, something more meaningful. He’s already carved an owl token for Merle, a songbird for June. She’s taken the ribbon from her hair and used that to make a necklace with it. It isn’t much, but it’s something. Something to keep his mind from wandering, to keep him from thinking about what the Captain and June had told him. Something to find a bit of _happiness_ in this world.

But even the world’s strongest fighter can only last so long. He’s halfway done with the albatross, a gift for his Captain, when the dam finally bursts.

June can only watch helplessly as the Fighter drops his work, curling in on himself. A sob escapes him, first weak and pathetic, and then _roaring_. His shoulders tremble, shaking with sobs that threaten to tear him apart. Tears roll down his cheeks. June moves into action, reaching forward to remove the whittling knife from his hand. Only then does she shift, to kneel before him, and murmurs,

“Can I touch you?”

Magnus doesn’t answer, not aloud. Instead, he throws himself forward, burying his face in her chest, and she wraps her arms tight around him. Words come pouring forth; apologies, promises, gentle assurances. All she can think of, dripping with accent and purpose. His hands cling at the faded fabric of her dress, as if she is the only thing holding him together. As if she is the only thing tying him to the Prime Material Plane.

“It’s going to be okay,” whispers the girl. June presses a kiss to the side of his head, one hand rubbing at his back. “It’s gunna be all right. We’re gunna save ‘em. We’re gunna keep ‘em from— Oh, Maggie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m _so sorry_.”

* * *

He remains by Merle’s side until the grief has passed, and all that remains is an exhausted Cleric. They’re tucked in Davenport’s hammock, a nest of blankets and pillows surrounding them. They’re warm. They’re safe, here. Nothing can hurt them in this space. He just has to keep telling himself that, even as Merle snores lightly beside him. How long has it been since he’s slept? A day? A week? He can’t keep track anymore. Despite his lack of self-care, Davenport can’t bring himself to give into exhaustion. Too many thoughts rush through his mind; too many doubts, fears, worries. It’s too much. It’s always been too much.

He shifts fitfully, turning to lay on his side.

Merle and Magnus are safe. He knows that’s much. Kravitz and Angus are with the Raven Queen and Istus, far safer than they would ever be aboard the Starblaster. June is with Magnus, though she was never in any danger. But June isn’t there for herself. Magnus needs someone right now, someone who can bring him comfort and hope where his family cannot. Someone who could be that light for him, when so much darkness surrounds them. Two of their family are safe. Four more remain trapped.

Memories of Magnus’ prison come swarming back. Bile rises in his throat. Lup and Taako, struck down time and time again. Merle, burning before the Hunger, laughter echoing as the fire swallows him whole. Barry being stripped to nothing; Lucretia, torn apart before his very eyes. His stomach lurches.

Merle’s arm wraps tight around him, pulling him close, and Davenport closes his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was already awake.” A lie, a blatant lie, but Davenport doesn’t have the energy to call the other out on it. “‘Sides, you need to sleep.”

“I don’t have time to sleep.”

“Yeah you do.” Gentle fingers move through his hair, a soothing motion. His heart begins to slow, stomach easing. Merle rests his head against his, temple to temple. “Maybe more than I do. C’mon, Dav, a few hours won’t hurt you.”

“They need me.” His voice breaks, even as his eyelids begin to close. Merle brings a blanket up, to wrap around his shoulders, cocooning them both. “I can’t fail them now.”

A kiss is pressed to his forehead. Davenport feels himself shift, his head now resting on the dwarf’s chest. Something washes over him, a murmured suggestion. “You won’t fail them. Now, please, _sleep_. I’m right here.”

The spell overtakes over him, not that it’s necessary anymore. His body is tired, his heart heavy. The last thing Davenport remembers before drifting off into dreamless slumber is Merle’s voice promising, “I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

 Angus always seems to know when it’s breakfast time.

They’d stopped by the Bureau just before dawn rose. Magnus had taken June to tour the facility while Merle and Davenport hurried to get information from Carey and Killian. Nothing on the ruins of Wonderland, and even less at Rockport. There was a promising lead with a few of the new recruits, but nothing that could provide answers. Not right away. And so the pair took a detour to the cafeteria, where Magnus and June were already devouring their second plate of eggs.

Halfway through his first, Davenport’s ears twitch. He glances over at Merle, at Magnus, and can’t seem to fight the smile growing. The other two seem pleased as well. They know those footsteps anywhere. Light and lithe, with a gentle clunk accenting the choice of his favorite adventurer's boots. Davenport holds up his fingers to the gathered group, counting down. Three, two—

“They found him.” Breathless, the boy skids to a stop in the doorway. His eyes are bright, his hair a mess. He doesn’t look like he’s slept. But still he smiles, wide and warm. “Lady Istus, the Raven Queen, they— he’s being held in Undercliff. We need to hurry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [fingerguns] hope you guys are enjoying it! next up is everyone's favorite class-collecting nerd.


	9. Slipping Through My Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for drowning imagery

Barry isn’t nearly as easy to track down as Magnus or Merle. He isn’t in a location they’d traveled to, and none of their allies had ever so much as _visited_ Undercliff. If it wasn’t for the Raven Queen and Istus, they might have never found him. But Davenport can’t think about that, not right now. Waterdeep, Angus tells them, and that’s what the Captain must focus on. Waterdeep is a town not too far from Neverwinter, with a populous just as wide and varied. Angus’ contacts in the area had told him of a man just below the city, hidden away in Undercliff near where the water reaches the caves. A man who wears sturdy denim, and is trapped within an opaque bubble. He would have been impossible to find without divine aid. For once, Davenport thanks the gods, instead of cursing them.

They use the Bureau’s cannons to shave some time off their journey. There’s no other way to make it any faster. A teleportation spell, perhaps, but none of them are quite the wizard Taako was. _Is_. And so they settle for the mundane, as achingly slow as it is. What is left of the IPRE, along with little Angus, arrive at their destination nearly two weeks after rescuing Magnus. Istus and the Raven Queen are waiting to greet them, Kravitz by their side. Davenport nods his head in greeting, Merle waves, but Magnus bows low at the waist once they’re close enough.

The Fighter looks healthier than before, though there are still bags beneath his eyes. His shoulders aren’t quite as strong, head not quite as high. But nevertheless, he remains by their side, Railsplitter resting on his back, the Shield of Memories on his arm. Standing between his Captain and his Cleric, an imposing figure beside two of the bravest men he’d ever met.

“My Reaper isn’t too far away,” the Raven Queen says, and motions down one of the caverns. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so to reach him.”

Davenport follows her gaze, takes a moment to twitch his ears, intake a deep breath. Mildew, blood, water. He glances back at the goddess, “Is there some reason we can’t go to him directly?”

“Something is blocking even our magic,” Istus answers, clasping her hands together before her. “Whatever it is, it is strong. To risk teleporting in there is to risk our physical forms, and we are more useful to you and to the realm like this than on the celestial plane.”

It makes sense. He doesn’t like it, but their reasoning makes sense. And so the Captain nods, moving before them to take point. Neither of the goddesses complain, though Kravitz’s face falls briefly. He isn’t too used to someone stepping before his mothers, it seems, but he will learn. Barry is as much Davenport’s as he is the Raven Queen’s— if not more— and he hasn’t come this far just to allow someone else to take the lead. His hands clench down by his side.

“What do we know about his prison?”

“From what we’ve been able to gather,” Angus says, trotting forth to join the Captain’s side, “it’s no different than the others, sir. Her Majesty showed me a vision of it, and it’s just how you described Magnus’. A big bubble with him floating inside. We’ll need to be careful, though; he’s perched precariously close to a waterfall.”

Wonderful. Perfect. Just what they needed. They could get Barry back, only to lose him immediately if he toppled backwards. They would just have to be extra careful, Davenport tells himself; they would need to have someone ready to catch him when the barrier finally breaks, provided nothing stops them from getting that close. And if he did fall, they’d have levitate ready. A contingency plan for a contingency plan; that’s just how the IPRE rolls.

It only takes them forty-five minutes to find Barry, exactly where the Raven Queen had described. And roaring behind him, a waterfall; just as the Raven Queen had showed Angus. Something twists in Davenport’s gut as he steps forward, his eyes on the barrier. Magnus’ hand rests on his shoulder, holding him in place. He can feel the human trembling, but nothing can stop him. Not now. So Davenport simply gives his hand a squeeze before shrugging it off.

“This is no one’s task but mine.”

He hates how many times he has to demand it, hates that the others believe they can step before him and take his burden. They are his crew. They are his _family_ , and it is his duty to protect them. He knows they mean well, they only wish to protect him, but it is needless. He was chosen as their captain. He _chose them_ as his crew. He will see this through. Davenport steps forwards, palms open, and once more presses against the barrier.

Unlike the others, there is no vision to greet him. The world around him fades until only darkness surrounds him, choking out every bit of light. He waits, and waits, and yet nothing appears before his eyes. It isn’t until he tries to breathe that he finally discovers what Barry’s torment is.

A wave of cold washes over him, clinging to his hair, his clothes. His lungs burn and sputter as water fills his mouth. It overwhelms him. Through his own body, he can feel Barry struggle to swim upwards, to find some reprieve from the inky blackness. But the cold only seeps deeper, his clothes weighted by the water surrounding him. His robe gets tangled in his legs, thick wool and denim keeping him from making any progress. His arms pull and pull, but there is no reprieve. He doesn’t seem to be gaining any ground. Or, water, as it were. The burn in his chest flares, threatening to consume him. His body spasms.

It’s Magnus who pulls him away this time, and Davenport stumbles back. The world spins, but the boy is there. Strong hands holding him up, supporting him, as the Captain struggles to breathe again. Dimly, he is aware of Magnus murmuring gently to him, repeating “Capnport” and “Dad” every other sentence. It’s enough to bring him back, to ground him. Slowly, light returns to his vision. He sees Merle standing next to him, flesh and bone hand reaching out. Istus stands back, with the Raven Queen, her hands over her mouth. Angus is quickly jotting down notes, but the wetness in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed. Davenport forces himself to stand straight.

“Gods.” He chokes out, running a hand through his hair. His other hand finds the hem of his coat, rubbing the stitching, trying to focus. “Gods, Barry.”

“What is it, sir?” Angus’ voice, so soft and quiet. It’s enough to make Davenport shake the thoughts away, fight his nausea back. Focus, Captain. Your team needs you. “Is he…?”

“He’s alive. So far, they’re all alive.” That’s good, he tries to tell himself. That’s better than the alternative. But for Barry to believe himself drowning for the past month and a half? He doesn’t want to imagine it. He doesn’t have to imagine it. “This one is…”

It’s stronger than the other two. The barrier is nearly opaque, which contradicted the vision Angus had received. Originally, the barrier had just been a bit cloudy, just enough to obscure Barry’s face, though his jeans and robe had been visible. That was how they had identified him. But now? Now it’s completely frozen over, pulsing with magic that had very nearly stolen Davenport away with it. They don’t have any time to waste.

“We’ll need both of you for this one.”

“What can we do?”

“Merle was able to lessen the magic on the last one, but this— this might be a bit more difficult.” Davenport clasps his hands behind his back, to hide the way his fingers tremble. Keep it together, he tells himself again. “We’ll need a bit more magic to get it weak enough. Angus, do you still have—”

The teenager produces a wand without any further instruction, and Davenport feels something in his heart soar. He doesn’t need to ask to know the truth; a gift from the goddesses, a blessing. He certainly hadn’t possessed that before leaving the Starblaster. It seems as though they would have a fighting chance at this one after all.

 _But the others_? a voice whispers in the back of his head, a voice he struggles to fight back. Magnus glances down at him, curiously, and for a moment Davenport is afraid he’s spoken aloud. His horror only grows when he realizes it isn’t the voice of self-doubt, but a new voice; a voice he’s never heard before. And it is addressing him directly. _How will you rescue the others if you can only just save this one? Maybe it’s time to admit you aren’t the Captain you thought you were._

“Show yourself!” he demands, one hand resting on a cutlass. Magnus shifts the Shield of Memories, moving to stand before Angus, following his Captain’s lead.

_Oh, we don’t need to worry about that. Not yet. But, perhaps, I can give you a taste of what is to come, if you continue down this path, gnome._

Davenport draws his cutlass, readying himself for an attack, but nothing can prepare him for what comes next. A scream cuts through the cavern. Davenport and Magnus whirl, Kravitz drawing his scythe, but drops it immediately.

Lady Istus stands next to the Raven Queen, her body contorted. Two hands reach for the bloodied spearhead protruding between her breasts, eyes wide, pupils threatening to take over both irises. Her mouth is open in a scream, but no more sound comes out. Magnus turns, to scoop up Angus, to press his face into his shoulder, as Kravitz rushes forward. He’s quick enough to catch the Lady as she falls to her knees, cradling her head in his lap.

The Raven Queen’s cape begins to flutter.

Her feet lift from the ground as she whirls, lifting a hand. From the shadows of the cavern, six men are drawn forward. All of their faces are contorted, distorted by illusion magic, and once more Davenport feels his stomach twist. Six men, four with magical weapons and two with mundane, all caught within the Raven Queen’s grasp. All around them, ravens croak, screaming their fury, their rage.

“Is this the game you wish to play?” Her voice echoes around the cavern. Two of the attackers are drawn forward, their bodies twisting, writhing against the magic that confines them. “To attack a goddess? To attack my _birds_? My _wife_?”

“Raven,” Istus gasps, her voice wet. “Raven, I’m— I’ll be— I’m all right. It will be all right.”

The men begin to wither.

Their bodies waste away before their eyes, and momentarily Davenport has the urge to silently ask the gods for mercy. But if they don’t have any, why should he? Instead, he forces a sneer, forces himself to look away as they crumble to dust. The Raven Queen may have been a benevolent goddess, but she is still the goddess of life and death; he has to remind himself of that fact. It is up to her to decide when someone’s time is right. And these six have signed their death certificates.

She draws the last four forward, but Kravitz lifts his head. His voice is hard and cold as he asks, “My Queen, leave one alive. One to send a message.”

“As you wish.”

Three of the men writhe and scream before them, until they are but dust beneath the Queen’s feet. The fourth does not get off easily, however; she brings him close to her, cups his face with her talons. Pinpricks of blood blossom where she touches him. He wriggles, mouth opening in a silent scream. Beneath her mask, the Queen smiles. She lowers herself, so that her mouth is a breath from his ear, and murmurs something too quiet for them to hear.

He is dropped to the ground, body trembling, convulsing, but the Queen turns from him. Her heels click lightly on the stone floor as she lands, hurries back to Istus. Kravitz retreats back to the gathered birds. The Raven Queen lifts Istus into her arms, the spearhead dissolving, and presses a kiss to her lover’s forehead. Istus’ breathing is labored, a bloody hand clinging to the torn fabric of her dress. Still, the Lady of Fate smiles.

“She needs to return to the celestial plane to heal.” The Queen’s voice is ice, but her gaze is soft. “It will take time. I—”

Davenport nods, and struggles to keep his voice steady. “We will return to the Starblaster, once Barry is safe. Take the time you need.”

“I will contact you once she is safe. Kravitz?”

Kravitz steps forward, extending a hand, and his scythe returns to his hand. He swipes it through the air before the Queen, opening and rift, and bows deepy before the two. The Raven Queen offers a small bow in return, and steps through. None of them dare to move until the rift has disappeared, and once more they are alone. Dimly, Davenport is aware of Agnus’ soft sobs, and Magnus’ murmured prayers. Gods, will things never stop being worse? _Keep it together!_

They need you.

He steps forward, drawing their attention, and shifts the cutlass in his hand. He hadn’t bothered sheathing it, prepared for another round of attacks, but it seems their enemies had not expected a pair of goddesses to accompany them. Good. That gives them plenty of time to finish this. Lifting the cutlass, he points at the bubble. Merle accepts his order, the Xtreme Teen Bible resting neatly in an open palm. Magic swirls around the two, and once more hibiscuses bloom. Not just on his arm; not this time. They bloom around his fingertips, working his way up, and several appear in his beard.

Magic swirls around them. Magnus places Angus down, readying his Chance Lance. Kravitz runs forward, momentum pushed by Pan’s laughter, and brings the scythe down on the barrier. A small tear, just enough to give them a hint of dark denim. Once Barry’s form is visible, Magnus throws the Lance, and light bursts from the tip as it comes in contact with the weakened orb. Crystalized water _shatters_ , and Barry falls atop the glittering shards.

For the first time in a long time, they’re lucky.

His body doesn’t roll towards the waterfall. He lies limp before them, body trembling, and the crew is gathered before they can press their luck. Merle’s hands work quickly, healing what he can. Magnus works to remove Barry’s cloak, to give him the chance to breathe. Davenport take the cloak, folding it up and tucking it into his back.

“He’s not waking up,” Magnus murmurs, giving Barry’s cheek a gentle tap. Tears in his eyes, he lifts his gaze, to stare at Davenport. Pleading, begging for their Captain to make it all okay again. “What do we do?”

“He’s breathing.” They have to find comfort in that. “Get him back to the Starblaster. We need to… Kravitz, can you—?”

The Reaper opens a rift before Davenport can finish the request. He stands aside, and within the rift, they can see the Starblaster. Their home, their sanctuary, just waiting for them. June’s voice cries out from the other side, calling for them, a moment before she appears on the other side of the rift.

“His room is ready,” she says, and motions for them to come through.

It doesn’t take much convincing. Magnus rushes through first, Barry tucked in his arms, with Merle close behind. The hibiscuses along his arm are fading, though the ones in his beard remain bright and alive. Perhaps they still have a chance. Perhaps they’ve always had a chance. Angus’ slips his little hand into Davenport’s, giving a gentle tug. Again, it doesn’t take much convincing. He follows the boy back through the portal, back home. Kravitz is close behind.

“Is he going to be all right, sir?”

“I hope so, Angus.”


	10. Are Each of Us to Blame?

Once Barry is settled in his room, Davenport calls for an impromptu meeting.

They don’t go far, just outside the closed door, but still arrange themselves in a nice, neat line. Even the children stand beside their guardians, and the Captain has to fight away a wave of warmth and pride. Perhaps they would become a part of this crew, given time. They aren’t his Birds, but they are family, and their help has been invaluable. Angus and June had figured out things even he wouldn’t have been able to put together.

But that, he tells himself, is for another time. For now, he focuses on the task ahead.

“Merle?” His attention turns from the children to the named dwarf. “What’d you find?”

The Cleric straightens when addressed, but then immediately relaxes. One hand reaches up, to scratch at his beard. “Y’know, it’s weird, Dav. Everythin’s fine with him, physically. He’s healthy as a horse, even. No dehydration, no signs of starvation. He’s been in there, what? Few weeks? Whatever the hell he was bein’ held in kept him in tip-top shape.”

It’s Angus who asks, “Then why isn’t he waking up?”

Merle sighs, shoulders slumping. When he speaks, it’s with remarkable tenderness. “Honestly, kiddo? The only thing I got is that he’s just _exhausted_. Physically, yeah, he’s fine, but whatever that thing was showin’ him has worn him out. Like Magnus, but a couple times worse. Personally and professionally, I think ole Bear just needs a few hours to rest. Maybe even a few days.”

Davenport nods. He clasps his hands behind him, to keep himself from fidgeting. “I want someone posted with him at all hours, just in case something happens. Kravitz—”

The Reaper lifts his head, “Permission to take a brief leave? Lady Istus…”

“Permission granted.” As if he wasn’t going to offer it, anyways. “Let us know how she’s doing once you’re able.”

The Reaper doesn’t waste time. As soon as the rift has closed behind him, Davenport turns to the others. It’s only then he’s finally able to see them for how they truly are. Magnus and Merle both look exhausted, even with the nervous energy that keeps Magnus’ hands tapping down by his side. Angus isn’t doing much better, he notes. The boy’s hands are trembling down by his side, his eyes glued to the floorboards. Davenport can tell from his unsteady breathing that he’s trying to keep from crying, now that he’s had time to process things. June’s arm is draped over his shoulder, holding him close. Gods above, what was he thinking? They are _children_.

“I’ll take the first shift,” he finally offers. Merle glances over at him, arching an eyebrow, but the Captain simply raises a hand. “Keep your Stones on at all times, and I will let you know if his condition changes.”

“You can’t stay with him for too long,” Magnus murmurs. “I— I mean, if it’s gunna be a few days, or even a day, you’ll need to time to sleep and eat, Cap’n. I can take the first watch, if you need—”

“No.” His voice is sharp, cutting off any more protests. “No, I’ve given my orders. The rest of you need to get some sleep. I’ll… I’ll call for another meeting tomorrow. Until then, just take the rest of the day to recover. It’s been a long few weeks, everyone. You all deserve a break.”

It’s Angus who speaks up next, tears in his eyes. “But what if we can help? I can… June and I can keep looking through the Director’s journals, sir. There’s got to be more information there about the formation of the Hunger. And— and Merle can help! He spoke to it. He knows—”

Merle holds up a hand, “Kiddo, I think Dav’s got a point.”

“I think Ango has a point, too,” Magnus says, and Davenport feels his head jerk, to stare at the other. “No disrespect meant, Captain, but if we can learn more about what’s going on, then we can figure out a counterattack. We can find where they are, perhaps faster than simply waiting on others to feed us the information. We know what they’re after. We know _why_. We just have to figure out where.”

“I’ve given my orders,” repeats the Captain, lifting his chin. Magnus’ eyes fall away, but his shoulders stiffen. His lips press into a tight frown. “I know we want this all to be over, but we are of no use to our family exhausted and half-dead. Take the evening off. Get some sleep, eat a good meal. We’ll resume the search tomorrow, and hopefully Barry will have some information for us.”

With that, Davenport turns from the other, cutting off any other arguments that might burst forth.

Magnus watches his Captain retreat, protests heavy on his tongue, but he bites them back. If those are their orders, then he’ll just have to ignore them. He’s Magnus _fuckin’_ Burnsides, and his family is all he has left. The Fighter waits until Davenport is back inside Barry’s room and turns to Merle. The kids are already leaving, defeated. Good. That makes it easier. He extends a hand, nudging Merle towards the kitchen.

Quietly, “Now, this may recklessly stupid—”

“Uh-oh.”

“—but I have an idea.”

* * *

“Kiddo, this isn’t a great idea.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t have much time, do we?” Glancing behind him, Magnus takes a moment to make sure Davenport is gone before continuing. “You heard what June and the Cap’n said. They’re tryin’ to make another Hunger. And I’m not gunna sit here on my ass while our family is _tortured_. We gotta try.”

“We don’t even know who’s behind this.” Merle hops from the floor, clambering into a stool at the island bar, and gives a little sigh. “But, hell. I guess we didn’t know who John was before we started Parlay, either.”

“Yeah, that’s, uh— that’s kinda why you did it.” He moves, to lean on the counter across from Merle. Another glance behind him. “I don’t like going against the Captain’s orders, either, but we can’t just sit here and do nothing. And if this is the only way to figure out what the fuck is goin’ on, then I guess we don’t have much of a choice.”

Merle shakes his head, chuckling. “Dav’s gunna be so pissed.”

“Yeah.” Magnus has to pause, to laugh. But then he shakes his head, pushing himself up, to stand before the second of his surrogate fathers. “I want to go.”

That catches Merle by surprise. Magnus can see it in his eye, the way it widens, the way his mouth opens, but no sound comes out. It takes him a moment to gather himself, but finally he is able to manage out, “It took me a _year_ to figure out how to Parlay, Magnus. We don’t have that time.”

“Then teach me the basics. Teach me the minimum. I need to-- If you go and something happens, the team is without a healer. At least with you here, you have some chance to bringing me back. Hell, even Kravitz can work his magic if you can’t. But we need to know what’s going on.” Magnus takes a deep breath, rubbing both hands over his face. “It was my idea. I’ll take the risk.”

“Okay. Okay, let me get this straight.” Holding up both his hands, “You want me to teach you a watered-down version of Parlay? A, uh— a Diet Parlay?”

“Yeah. And we only got a couple hours, so let’s get to it.”

* * *

She doesn’t know how long she’s wept for him.

Time is funny, in this strange place. The world howls around her, but nothing can touch her. Nothing hurts, but nothing brings her pleasure, either. The only constant she finds is her family’s heartbeats, pounding in her chest, urging her on. Their voices, constant in her ears. And now, among the five she’d saved, only two remain. His voice has been silenced, but his heartbeat remains, fluttering faintly in her breast. He’s still alive; she knows that much.

But for how long?

She wants to scream, to beg, to plead for her family to return to her. She wants to apologize to them, apologize for failing them. Instead, all she can do is weep.

And then, a voice.

Soft and kind and gentle, calling out to her. It doesn’t utter her name nor her title, but she knows it’s for her. She knows that warmth. Unconsciously, Lucretia reaches outward. The warmth surrounds her, and her word explodes in a bright yellow.

* * *

When he opens his eyes, he's no longer sitting at the island bar.

Instead, he feels as though he's _on_ an island. The taste of salt in the air, the sound of waves crashing nearby. Around them, sand dunes build a makeshift wall, accented by the bamboo and candles that add to the ambience. There’s a small table between the two of them, also crafted from bamboo, with a bottle of wine and two glasses resting in the center.

And there, sitting across from him, is _Lucretia_.

That alone catches him by surprise. Lucretia? In Parlay? He is supposed to be meeting their _enemies_ , but this— this is his sister. But if her presence there confused him, her appearance made his heart _ache_. She’s not the same woman he remembers. She’s nothing like the last time he saw her just a month before. She still looks tired; Lucretia always looked so exhausted, but this is different. There’s no light behind her green eyes. Her brilliant blue robe has been replaced by a dress of gentle silver, and her earrings— gifts from Taako, he remembers— are missing. Her hair has started to fade from its stark white to a more muted cream.

When she lifts her gaze, Magnus feels his stomach twist, his heart clawing at his throat, desperate for escape.

“Lucy?”

He reaches out to her, but she’s quicker. She lifts a hand, and a small barrier appears between them, keeping the distance they’d found themselves in. Her fingers tremble, and for the first time since his memories returned, Magnus realizes just how old she’s become. Fifty-three physically, a lot more mentally, but it’s different now. Now seeing her like this, he can’t help but wonder what torture she’s enduring.

“Lucy, it’s all right.” He keeps his voice soft, gentle, as he takes the seat across from her. Both hands on the table, in plain view. “It’s all right, Luce. I’m here now. I’m here to help. Where are you?”

“Stay away from me.” Her voice is quiet, trembling, but she doesn’t drop her hand. She keeps looking at him, but it’s not the same. She doesn’t meet his eyes, doesn’t even look at his face past the first moment. Her shoulders rise and fall with labored breathing. “I don’t… I can’t handle this. Not this. Not— not _him._ ”

Concern tightens his chest. He extends a hand, to press it against the soft glimmer of the barrier, and Lucretia pulls her hand closer. Tears blossom in those faded eyes.

“I’m _right here_ , Lucy. I want to help.” He places both hands against the barrier now. “We want to help, but you have to _help me_. Where are you? Where are they keeping you? We have to find you, Lucy, but I need your help.”

“Stop it.” Her voice cracks. She moves away from him, pushing herself up from the table. Her legs tremble, one knee crumpling, and Lucretia falls forward. She catches herself on the table. Briefly, Maggie remembers her knees, her hips. Always causing her trouble during the Century, and now— now more than likely frozen in place by whatever is holding her. Pain scrunches the woman’s face. “Leave me alone. Leave me alone. You’re not— He’s…”

“I’m not what?”

“You’re not _here._ ” She pushes away from him, from the table, as he tries to approach her. For every step he takes closer, Lucretia moves away, keeping her distance. Matching his steps in a twisted sort of dance. “You’re not real. I felt you— I heard—”

Though he doesn’t want to think about it, Magnus can’t help but put the pieces together. His sister, his brilliant little sister, believed him _dead_. Did she think the same of the others? By the gods, what were they putting her through? One hand grasps at his shirt, just above his heart, while the other remains in constant contact with the table. Supporting him? Showing her he meant no harm? Even he wasn’t sure.

 _I’m not going to hurt you, Lucy,_ he wants to scream. _I’m right here. I’m right here! Come home._

“What did you do to him?” It comes out as a sob, jarring Magnus from his thoughts. Something cracks along her skin, starting just below her right eye and splintering across her face. Colors blossom beneath it. “What did you do to _Barry_?”

“He’s safe.”

“Don’t lie to me!” The cracks splinter further, and a thin fissure splits an iris. “Don’t lie to me. Where’s Barry? I can feel him. I can feel him. I know he’s here. He’s still alive. Give him back to me.”

“Lucy, please.” Magnus flinches as his voice cracks. Now is not the time, he tells himself. Lucretia needs him now; he can tend to the growing fears later. “Lucretia. Luce, you _have to trust me_. It’s me. It’s _Magnus._ Barry is safe with me, with Cap’n, with Merle. We’re on the Starblaster. It’s going to be okay, but you need to tell me _where you are_.”

“Stay away from me!”

A burst of wind, of energy, knocks him flat on his ass. One of the wine glasses flies above his head, shattering, and shards fall into his hair. The breath is knocked from his lungs. Lucretia’s hands are lifted, as if she can physically keep him halfway across the parlor. Despite the pain in his heart, Magnus pushes himself to his feet, making his way over towards her. If she believed him a fake, then he would have to prove her wrong.

“Lucretia Greenfell likes her tea with extra sugar and honey,” says the man quickly, and Lucretia jerks back. Her eyes go wide, confusion flickering in her gaze. As her head tilts to the side, he continues, “Taako’s macaroons are good, but your favorite thing to eat with tea and coffee both are toffee cakes. Barry tried to make them once, and you nearly broke a tooth on them.”

She chuckle, the sound hollow, and Magnus’ heart soars. Slowly, Lucretia’s hands lower, though they do not yet relax by her side. He takes the chance to step forward, to try to push his luck. She may not be back with him yet, but this is closer. This is better than where they were before. He’s her brother; she’s his sister. He knows her.

“You broke your glasses halfway through Cycle 36, and we had to lead you around for a good portion of that year. All of us tried to take notes for you, and— gods, Lucretia, we were all so bad at it. But you were still somehow able to record everything that happened that year, despite not having seen half of it. Do you remember that?”

“I—” She drops her head, glancing down at her hands. Her lips curved slightly, into a weak half-smile. “I fell off the Starblaster. We were landing. I got excited to finally touch down. Taako was behind me, clapped his hand against my back, and we—”

He notices the way her gaze darkens slightly. “You fell off. It wasn’t far, but you—”

“ _Taako_.” The word echoes across the diet parlay parlor. She tries to step back, to step away, but falls. Something clinging to her skirts; something black and dark and thick pull her down. Beneath her skin, a dull light glows, shining through her eyes, her open mouth. “Taako. Gods, Taako, I didn’t mean— I never wanted.”

Magnus hurries to her side, kneeling. He tries to claw away at the darkness around her ankles, and finds it thick and sticky. A sort of goo that seems stronger than even of his hands. It doesn't budge beneath his touch. “Lucy. Lucy, hey, Lucy. Lucy, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here, focus on me. Focus on me, Lucy. You’re okay. I promise, you’re...”

The darkness only grows. It spreads up her legs, past her knees, climbing up to her hips. It seems to corrupt her dress as it spreads, causing the silver to darken to gray. The puddle at her feet spreads, finding her hands, moving up her arms. It avoids him, though, and he tries to use that to his advantage. Magnus struggles to pull her hands free before it can overtake her, but no matter what he tries, it still is able to withstand his strength. She turns to look at him, opening her mouth, but nothing comes out this time. Tears well in the corners of her eyes.

“It’s going to be all right,” Magnus promises, pressing his forehead against hers. His own vision blurs with tears, but he keeps his eyes focused on hers. “We’re going to find you. I promise, Lucy.”

The darkness is around her neck now. The parlor around them flickers, fading. Her body shakes with sobs, with fear.

“I love you, Maggie.”

“I love you, too, Lucy.”

* * *

 He wakes on the floor.

Something soft rests beneath his head, folded into a neat little pillow. Merle stands over him, grinning despite it all. His wooden hand rests on his knee, flesh and bone stroking the boy’s flop of hair.

“How you feelin’, Mags?”

“Like shit,” he croaks. Still, he grins and pushes himself up, to sit. The world around him seems to tilt, to spin, and Merle is rest a hand on the his shoulder. Steadying and calm; stalwart. A good friend, despite it all. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Magnus and Merle both stiffen, exchanging a look, before turning to the doorway. Davenport stands behind them both, hands clasped behind his back. His mustache twitches, lips pressing into a thin frown. He seems pleased with himself for the dramatic entrance, despite the sight before him.

“Cap’n!” Magnus tries his best to keep his voice steady, even as he pushes himself to his feet. “I thought you were looking after Barry.”

“I was.” He crosses the short distance between them. Pausing at the folded jacket, he frowns, nudging it with a foot, and Magnus quickly picks it up. “I came to ask one of you to relieve me, since neither of you seemed to answer your Stones of Farspeech. Figured you were asleep, and yet here I find you on the ground with Merle— doing _something_ , I’m sure.”

“Heh, yeah. Yeah, it’s, uh— it’s a long story. A really funny story, actually.”

“I’m sure.”

Merle steps forward, hands lifted, “Hey, don’t blame the kid, Dav. It was my idea. Magnus is just the one that decided to volunteer, since I have more practice with, with stabilizing and healing and— y’know, everything related to Parlay’s aftermath.”

Davenport’s tail bristles, and immediately both of them realize that probably wasn’t the best thing to say. His ears lift, one swiveling back, to press against his skull, as his mustache twitches once again. The Captain’s expression is near unreadable, with those amber eyes darkening, brows furrowed. Merle tries to step forward, to ease the tension, but the gnome lifts a hand. They both freeze.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“Merle _fuckin’_ Highchurch, I do not want to play these games.” He turns his steely gaze from Merle to Magnus, and the boy feels his stomach twist. “What. Happened.”

From behind the Captain, Merle sighs. He slumps against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, and motions briefly with his wooden hand. “The kid… We thought we could maybe talk to them, or— or whatever they’re trying to make. Maybe it would be the Hunger, maybe one of our family. Maybe even who’s behind this. But, y’know, things don’t always go as planned, and—”

“You could have _killed him_.” Davenport whirls on the Cleric, venom dripping from his words. “You know how dangerous Parlay can be. You, of all people, Merle _fuckin’_ Highchurch.”

His heart beating in his chest, Magnus can only step forward, blocking the Captain’s gaze, keeping Merle shielded. He knows— logically, he knows above everything else that Davenport would never hurt any of them, but emotions are running high. He’s seen his family stolen, scattered. He’s seen his sister shatter before him. Every fiber of his being screams for him to step forward, to do something, to protect what he has left.

“I asked to go. Dad, Captain, I— I asked to go. Merle wanted to, but I wasn’t going to let him. If something happened, we’d need his healing ability. Don’t— Please don’t get angry at him. I don’t know how he would have handled that, anyways. It’s all right.”

He’s rambling now, and he knows it. They all know it. Davenport turns his gaze from the dwarf to the Fighter. This time, he doesn’t look as upset. At least, not as angry. This time, he looks concerned, and perhaps even a little confused. His shoulders sag, and the gnome walks past them, into the kitchen.

“I’ll— I’ll make some tea. Magnus, you, you take a seat and tell me what you found.” He’s already filling the kettle with water, pulling three mugs from the cabinet with his tail. “It’s done and over with now; might as well try to figure out what you learned. But if you ever disobey me again, so help me, I will throw you in the brig for the rest of your natural life.”

Magnus attempts to smile, but finds there’s nothing to smile about. Briefly, his mind flashes back. Lucretia fallen before him, her skin splitting, magic bright beneath her dark flesh. Looking up at him, begging for him to help her. Denying his existence, even as she struggles to fight him. He nearly stumbles getting into the stool, but manages. Merle takes a seat next to him and pats the boy’s hand. Magnus shifts, to return the gesture with a warm squeeze.

“I didn’t learn much,” murmurs the Fighter, after a bit of encouragement from Merle. “They, uh— I couldn’t get a location. I don’t know where Lup or Taako or—”

He has to cut himself off, to look away from Davenport’s prying gaze. He can’t tell them. He can’t. They’d only just now found their rhythm again. Lucretia, being invited to dinners and parties once again. Them spending nights together on Davenport’s ship. Snuggle piles with the family, whispered rumors, as though they were nothing but children once more. Their family is finally back together; perhaps not whole once more, but healing. Seven birds in the same nest. He can’t risk destroying that.

His hands fall into his lap, to hide his trembling fingers. The kettle whistles, but it’s dim compare to the storm in his heart. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much to be gathered from what… from whatever happened there, Captain. I met with— with _someone_ in Parlay—”

Merle is quick to interrupt with, “Diet Parlay.”

“Right. Diet Parlay. We met briefly, couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. And there isn’t— there just wasn’t anything to be gained from that. No locations, no ideas as to why they’re keeping our family like this. No clue who’s behind this. I would say it was almost a waste of time, except…”

Davenport rests a cup of tea before Magnus, prodding, “Except?”

“Except something’s _wrong_.” He takes the cup between his hands, lets the warmth wash over him. He can still see her, cracked and terrified. Overwhelmed by the darkness that threatened to consume her, to drag her down and drown her. Magnus forces himself to focus on the tea; its warmth, the smell of lavender. Merle adds honey to both of theirs. “Something’s _wrong_. I couldn’t get anything out of her, Cap’n. It was like she wasn’t even there. She was— she was saying things that didn’t make sense. She was _afraid_ of me. She’s never been afraid of me. She’s never looked at me like that. I don’t know what else I could have done. I don’t know what else to do. She’s being manipulated, or— or controlled. Or _something_. She wasn’t herself. We have to do something, Captain. We have to—”

“Magnus.” Davenport leans over, to rest a hand gentle over the boy’s. “Stay with me, Magnus. I need you to focus. Who’s her? What happened?”

A sob bursts free, and Magnus buries his face in his hands. His chest burns as the emotions roll free, shattering whatever sort of guard he’s built. His family needs him. Lucretia needs him. He can’t be there for both of them, not at the moment. So what good is he?

“We have to do _something_. We have to save her.”

* * *

 They feel her hope bubble forth.

Oh, they’d heard about _Parlay_ before, from the Voidfish’s song. The Peacekeeper had used it many times to communicate with their God. They’d known, but still they hadn’t been prepared. How could they? Who could imagined the Peacekeeper would have thought to send someone else in his place? They could have handled him. They had plans in place for him. But to send someone else in his place?

They feel her change, and there is no more time for doubt. They reach forward, wrapping themselves around her. First her ankles, then her hands, pulling her back to her pedestal. The Protector tries to reach out, to fight them away, but they are stronger. They have always been stronger. To their surprise, the Protector seems to inspire something within their bird. She tries to fight against their grip, instead of surrendering.

They tighten their hold. Their form wraps around her neck and throat. They’re not fast enough to stop _I love you_ from escaping her lips, but they can fix it. They can always fix it. She is pulled back within their grip, and he expelled from the beach.

 _It will be all right,_ they promise her, once she’s cradled close to their chest. _We will protect you._

* * *

 Darkness surrounds her.

Clawing at her skin, pulling her down, lower and lower. She tries to breathe, to scream, to beg, but the blackness has infiltrated even her lungs. It clings to every inch of her, inside and out.

Magnus.

Magnus is alive?

No. No, that’s _impossible_.

She’d felt him die.

His heart in her hand, snatched away. Merle and Barry, too. And Davenport… She hadn’t even been able to _save_ Davenport. They’d killed him long before he could be found and brought to her. Four of her family, murdered, because she hadn’t been strong enough. She hadn’t been capable enough.

Within the darkness, a scream breaks free.

* * *

 Davenport finishes off his tea and places the mug in the sink. Reminding himself to do the dishes later, he turns to the two men, lifts his chin. “Magnus, my office, now. Merle,” he takes a moment to point at said dwarf, “I want you watching over Barry while Magnus and I talk. We’ll be in my office. Come and get us if anything changes, is that understood?”

Merle nods once, and Davenport takes a deep breath. All right. All right, he can do this. They can do this. He just needs all the facts, first.

They take the long way; out of the hull and onto the main deck, before once more descending near his room. He doesn’t linger, but he does take a moment to enjoy the crisp nighttime breeze. Cool and brisk, enough to chill his burning ears and ground him. How many times has he come up here for a moment alone? How many times has the crew joined him, to escape their trials and find a moment with family? Too many, he thinks, bounding down the stairs. Too many, and yet not enough. He would give anything to have just one of those nights back.

They arrive at his office, and Davenport opens the door. Once Magnus is inside, he shuts and locks it behind them. He sits at his desk, Magnus sitting across from him. Shoulders slumped, tears in his eyes, Magnus refuses to meet his gaze. He can do this.

“What happened?”

“I— I told you everything, Captain. I don’t know what you—”

“Magnus.” His name comes out sharper than intended, and Davenport tries again. “Magnus, I need you to listen to me. I am your _Captain_. Stop trying to protect me from the truth, especially in a time like this.” His tail flits out, to grab a fidget cube from his desk. His thumb finds the switch and he flicks it; up, down, up down; trying to find a rhythm that could ease his thoughts, keep him together. He takes a deep breath. “Was it Lucretia?”

Her name is a sob, a prayer, and a plea all from Magnus’ lips.

Magnus slumps forwards, burying his face in his hands. Tears roll down his cheek, soaking his sideburns and beard, dotting the desk between them. Davenport feels something twist in his stomach. He’d known; part of him had known from the moment Magnus had first said “her,” but he’d prayed. He had _hoped_ that whatever was waiting for Magnus in that Parlay was not— it hadn’t been _Lucretia_. His thumb moves faster over the switch.

Her name escapes one more time, and everything billows forth. The way she didn’t seem to believe Magnus was real, that he was alive. The way she’d _begged_ for Barry to be returned to her. But it isn’t until Magnus mentions the cracks along her skin, the light in her eyes, that Davenport feels himself separating. Darkness creeps into the corners of his vision, and the clicks from his cube begin to flood together, forming a constant hum.

For once in his life, he has no idea what to do.

 


	11. When I Was Lost

_He dreams of water._

_The beach around them, waves licking the shore. The smell of salt in the air, the sound of his family’s laughter. Lucretia squealing as Magnus tosses her into deeper water; Lup and Taako shouting as they splash. After twenty hard years, they deserve a break. Even the Captain seems to be at peace, settled next to the fire, nursing a small bottle of wine they’d gotten on a previous plane. Not the same one Magnus had indirectly wasted, but still a decent year._

_It’s a good year. They deserve a vacation, after all they’ve endured. Twenty years of this purgatory, and not a single idea how to escape it. Everything they have tried has failed. This— they deserve this year._

_But like all his dreams, they crumple to ash._

_The water rises, swelling, pulling Lucretia farther out to see. She screams, though it’s silenced as the water takes her under. Magnus tries to follow, calling for his sister. Taako is not far behind, calling for Magnus to come back; it isn’t safe. But they, too, are soon swallowed. The water continues to swell, cresting into a wave that threatened to swallow the entire beach._

_He needs to run. He knows that. He needs to make it to the Starblaster, to survive. Even if they fall, he can reset at the end of the Cycle. But his feet are frozen as Lup goes under, the water around her sizzling with her rage. Merle follows, though he seems more at peace with his death. He always seems to be. Not so much with Davenport, who screams for the dwarf, fighting against the swelling water for his crew, his family._

_And when the wave comes for him, Barry can only allow it to wash over him._

_This time, there is no next time._

* * *

He wakes with a gasp.

Everything hurts. Gods above, every inch of his body pounds with pain, threatening to tear his phyiscal form apart, but a few deep breaths keep it together. Soon, only the pounding in his head remains. He’ll deal with that. He would _gladly_ take another migraine over the memories, the nightmares. Slowly, Barry pushes himself up, until he’s sitting. His legs hang over the side of the bed, and one hand reaches for—

“Merle?”

Said dwarf is half asleep, one hand tucked under his chin, his eyes closed. But as soon as his name is mentioned, he stirs, mumbling something under his breath. It takes another second for him to realize he’s not alone. He jolts up. One hand reaches out, for a weapon, for his Bible, but falters when Barry’s blue eyes meet his. A grin splits his face.

“Good to see you up and about, Barold.”

* * *

Davenport may have locked the door to his office, but his room is another story. After finding the first inaccessible, Barry chooses to go for the latter. A quick moment later and he’s inside, going for the curtain that separates business from all other aspects of life. But when he pulls it aside, he feels something within him twist.

Davenport, sitting at his desk, a fidget in his hands. Magnus by his side, sitting on the ground, his head against their Captain’s leg. The boy is exhausted; even Barry can see that. Papers are strewn about; a few have been picked up and stacked, but others remain on the floor. Whatever he’s missed, he’s happy to have bypassed it. He is not, however, happy to see his Captain and brother in this state.

“Did I, uh— Did I miss something?”

“Oh, yeah.” Merle, from his place at Barry’s side, jogs forward. “You’ve missed a lot, Bear. But we got bigger things to talk about.”

His presence, along with Barry’s question, is enough to break the spell that has passed over the two. Magnus glances up, and it’s with horror Barry realizes he’s been crying. Davenport flashes the human a smile, but Barry once more can’t seem to make his feet move. It’s Merle, instead, who takes the first steps. Merle who passes the collector of classes and makes straight for their Captain.

Merle scrambles atop the desk, to sit across from Davenport. They speak in hushed voices, in a language Barry hasn’t quite picked up yet. So instead, once he gets his feet working, he moves to Magnus, kneeling at his side.

“Hey. Hey, Maggie.”

“ _Barry_.” The big man reaches forward, pulling him into hug. Barry swears a few bones in his spine _crack_ , but he ignores it in favor of wrapping his arms around Magnus, holding him close. “Barry, I— I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, there, Mags.” Barry tries to keep his voice steady, quiet. One hand rubs gentle circles into the other’s back. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. Merle’s… Merle’s given me the Fantasy Cliffnotes version of what happened. It isn’t your fault, bro. There’s nothing you could have done. It’s okay.”

Even as he says it, he knows the words won’t have any effect. Magnus only sobs harder into his chest, his body wracked from the pain within. Barry doesn’t know how he can handle this much, doesn’t know how he can cry when there is so little left within. The only thing he does know is that Magnus is going to have to drink a lot of water to rehydrate. And so that is what he focuses on.

“Hey, hey, Mags, why don’t we—” Gently, he pulls away, despite Magnus’ whimpered protests. “Why don’t we go get something to drink, huh? You can tell me the longer version of what’s been going on. Or we can just talk. But you look like you could use some water, and I could _definitely_ use—” No. No water, he protests, and quickly amends himself, “—I could definitely use some Fantasy Advil. Plus, it’ll give the dads some time alone.”

There’s a grumbled complaint from Davenport, but Magnus overrides it with a nod. Slowly he stands, wavering slightly, before offering a hand out to Barry. An offer, a request. No matter what it is, Barry takes it, intertwining their fingers. A soft smile curves his lips.

“It’s good to have you back,” Magnus murmurs, between soft hiccups.

He squeezes the other’s hand. “It’s good to be back.”

* * *

“Barry’s woken up.”

Quick and curt, something they’ve long come to expect from the Captain. But even as they both think it, the children also share a knowing glance. Curt he may be sometimes, but there’s something else in his tone, something that betrays his normally calm demeanor. Immediately, Angus leaps over June, going for his notebook, while the girl army crawls out of their blanket for to grab a handful of Lucretia’s journals. Captain whines at the sudden movement, but shifts herself, so she’s laying at the back of the tent. A huff escapes her muzzle.

A moment later, Merle’s voice comes through their Stones, hushed and quiet. “Dav’s takin’ a nap, crew. Give him a few hours before y’all try to contact him. I’ll let you know when it’s safe.”

The two stare at each other for a moment before climbing back inside the comfort of their blanket tent. _Fort Starblaster_ , they’d named it. Junes’ idea, and Angus had to agree it was a good name, if a bit redundant.

“What do you have so far?” Angus keeps his voice just above a whisper. The lights floating above them would give their position away if anyone entered, but still— he’s enjoying this whole _secret agent_ thing. “Since Barry’s awake, we can definitely ask him some questions.”

June replies in her own hushed voice, “But not right away. It’ll get back to the Captain, and then he’ll be mad we didn’t take a nap.”

“It’ll be fine, once we single-handedly save everyone else.” He puffs up his chest, so proud of himself, and June reaches forward, to poke his stomach. Angus’ face scrunches. The boy rubs his tummy. “Okay, okay. Maybe you’re right. I don’t wanna risk getting grounded again.”

He makes a face, and June laughs, flipping through Lucretia’s journals. Not the one from the Century; those would do them no good now. No, they had both decided that the entries from Faerun on would be the best way to go about this. Lucretia hadn’t written in nearly as much detail as before their arrival, which was upsetting, but there is still plenty to go on. It’s enough for them, for now.

“We’ve check everywhere they’ve traveled. Goldcliff, Wonderland, Refuge— there’s no one there, not anymore.” June frowns, giving up one journal for another. She squints. “The handwriting in this one is different. Not like a bad different, just—”

Angus appears next to her, peeking over her shoulder. “Huh. No, I see what you’re saying. The I’s are dotted. It’s slanted a little to the left, instead of the right. Nothing major. I’m sure it was just— just a bad day.”

“But what if it’s not?” She chews the inside of her cheek, glancing through the first entry. “What if someone else wrote this journal? No. No, that can’t— It mentions Lup and the Umbrastaff. Huh.” Glancing over at Angus, “A mystery for another day?”

“For another day!”

That settled, the two return to their investigation. Between them, two mugs rest, filled with hot chocolate. And whenever they get too low, all Angus has to do is swish his new wand, and the mugs refill. “Cheater,” June had teased, and he’d stuck out his tongue.

“Okay, so where else do we need to look?” June reaches up, to wipe the hot chocolate mustache away. “I’ve got a few locations from her journals, but nothing concrete.”

Angus glances over the notes they’ve taken over this session, frowns. “From where they went around their journey? Phandalin, and that’s about it. But there’s no one there anymore. Have we tried looking from before the Bureau?”

June takes a moment to flit through a few of the journals, then pulls one from the pile and onto her lap. “She traveled everywhere. From the Moonsea Region to from the ruins of Ilythiir. You might as well be asking me to close my eyes and pick a random place on a map, Angus.”

“Then we’ll have to narrow it down.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?”

Angus grins over at her and covers his eyes before extending a finger. His finger swirls around for a few moments, dramatically, before coming down atop a word on the page. June swats at him, unable to contain her laughter.

“You landed on the word ‘Taako,’ you idiot.”

A face appears in the opening of their tent.

“Hey, kids. What’cha working on?”

The journal June throws nearly hits Barry in the face.

* * *

He dreams of her.

Split skin, shattered soul. Eyes fading from the bright green of her elven heritage to a muddled yellow. She doesn’t so much stand in front of him as she does float, white dress fluttering around bare feet. Around them, two stars float through the darkness, pulsing in matching heartbeats. Davenport doesn’t have to ask.

He knows.

But he does have to ask, “Is this a dream?”

“Yours or mine?” She turns her gaze from the orbiting lights to him. The smile that crosses her face is pained, and it strikes him to his very core. Her arms cross over her chest, enveloping herself in a semi-hug. “Does it even matter?”

 _You know it does_ , he wants to yell, but bites his tongue. Instead, he simply shrugs, walking across the darkness to her side. She doesn’t reach for him, as she has done so many times before. She doesn’t ask for forgiveness, or murmur his title as though it might once again be stolen from them both. She does, however, bow her head in greeting and turn back to the stars.

“We don’t have long.”

“How long is not long?”

Lucretia clasps her hands behind her back, “I don’t know. They’re closing in fast, faster than I expected, Captain. Not much, though. Maybe two, three minutes, if we’re lucky.”

Something thuds in his chest. “What happens then?”

“We wake up,” she shrugs. “I can… I can protect you from them, but not for long. Not nearly as long as I want.” Her voice trembles, and another crack splits across her jaw, traveling below the neckline of her dress. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“We’re going to find you.”

He tries to reach for her, to take her hand, but she glides away. Her hands lift, to curl up by her heart. Colors glimmer from beneath her skin, even as she shakes her head.

“Don’t touch me. I don’t— I don’t know what it will do to you.” Briefly, she glances at the stars once more, and then back to him. Green flickers in her irises, only to be swallowed up once more by the yellow. “We’re running out of time.”

“Lucretia.” He speaks her name with as much strength as he can muster; a plea and a command, all wrapped into one. It catches her attention. “Why am I here?”

“I had to know. I had to know the truth.” She floats back once more, keeping her distance. The air around them grows stale, and Davenport feels something cold knot in his gut. “They won’t tell me anything, but Magnus— Maggie, he’s— he’s still alive. And I had to know. I had to know if I let you down, or if it was all a lie.” Her breathing grows labored. She curls tighter around herself, pulling her legs up. His Journal Keeper, so small and so very alone. “I still don’t know. I don’t… Is this a dream?”

“No.” He says it with more confidence than he feels. “Where are you, Lucretia?”

“I don’t know.” Tears well in her eyes. She shakes her head furiously, features blurring, and Davenport has to fight the nausea from rising. Her voice cracks, “I don’t know anymore. Maybe I did, once, but I— It’s so cold, Dad. I can’t feel anything.”

“We’re going to _find you_.”

“I’m scared.”

“It’s going to be all right.” His eyes once more catch the motion of the planets. “Can you tell me where they are, Lucretia?”

She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Panic flares in her eyes. Her hands lift, to wrap around her own throat, to claw at something that isn’t there. Her shoulders shake, feet flailing uselessly. The cold feeling in his gut expands, until it’s all but captured his heart. He can’t give in. He won’t let them take her, not before he’s gained something from this interaction.

“Where are they, Lucretia? Point, whisper, do something!” He tries to run to her, but the closer he gets, the farther away she seems to move. Something is dragging her, dangling her like a mouse on the edge of a string, trying to entice a wayward cat. He’s the cat, he realizes, and skids to a stop. She, too, stops moving. “Lucretia, tell me where they are.”

A hand pulls away from her neck, palm outstretched to him. A blast of warmth hits him in the chest, banishing him from the plane.

“Look where their adventure began,” echoes in his ears, even as he jolts awake.

* * *

 

When he wakes, he’s pressed against Merle’s chest. The dwarf’s fingers run through his hair, and Davenport _swears_ he’s murmuring in dwarvish, though he can’t make out the words. Despite everything going on around them, all he wants to do is stay there. He wants to remain just a moment longer here, nestled in the dwarf’s arms, safe from the horrors that surround him. But then Lucretia’s voice comes back, echoing in his mind, and he puts a hand on Merle’s chest.

“Heya, Dav.” He brushes a strand of orange curl from the gnome’s face. “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah.” He pushes himself up, so he’s sitting, but Merle keeps a hand on his shoulders. For once, he doesn’t protest. “Why do you ask?”

“You were— Ah, it don’t matter. How you feelin’? Barry brought a cup of tea for each of us not too long ago.” He motions, and sure enough there’s two teacups waiting for them on his bedside table. It’s enough to make Davenport smile. “If you want, we can talk about it.”

Davenport shakes his head. “No. No, it’s…”

He takes a moment to breathe, a moment Merle gives her. He reaches up, to scrub at his face, to fix his hair. He needs to be presentable. He needs to be able to look his crew in the eye, but even then he can’t tell them everything. Maybe Magnus, but— No. No, he can’t. Not after yesterday. Not after that Diet Parlay nearly destroyed his son. His _Fighter_ , he tries to correct himself, but it falls flat.

Fuck.

“How’s Barry?”

Merle shrugs. “Doin’ okay. I think he got most of the stuff that’s been goin’ down out of Mags. He came to check on you after learnin’ about… Well, y’know. But you were already asleep. Said he’d come back later.” The dwarf glances over at him once more, then lets his hand slip down the other’s arm, to intertwine their fingers. “Are you sure you’re doin’ okay?”

“I’ve… I’ve definitely been better. Pass the tea.” Once it’s nestled safely between his hands, now free from Merle, he continues, “Can I ask your opinion on something?”

The dwarf laughs. “I dunno how good my opinion is, but I certainly got enough to spread around. ‘Sup, Dav?”

Davenport remains quiet for a moment, and then two, running her words through his head again and again. But every time he tries to think too deep, the dream comes back. Finally, he blurts out, “Lucretia said ‘look where their adventure began.’”

“Wait, wait.” Now Merle is paying attention, turning to sit, to face him. His hands rest neatly on his folded ankles. “I have a few ideas, but— I’mma need you to go back and fill in some gaps for me, Dav, ‘cause I’m outta the loop here. So, let’s go back. _Lucy_? You spoke to Lucy?”

“I think.” He takes a brief second to sip from his tea. The warmth is comforting, momentarily filling the cracks in his heart, and he continues, “I think so. Either that or a vivid dream, but I’m not leaving anything to chance anymore. She said to ‘look where their adventure began.’ That’s all she could tell me.”

Merle nods, and Davenport can see the wheels in his head turning. “Okay. All right. That ain’t much to go on, but— You think Barry would know? I mean, does she mean us as in the team or—”

“I don’t know.”

“—‘Cause I hate to tell you, but we ain’t never gunna go back home. Lemme give a call to Bear, see what he thinks.”

Merle tucks himself away for a moment, and a hushed conversation over the Stone of Farspeech follows. First, just Barry and Merle, but then two others voices. June and Angus, he realizes after a moment, and feels something in his chest twist. Does no one listen to his instructions anymore? His _orders_? By the Gods, they’re just kids! He wants to snap, to remind both Merle and Barry of that fact, but bites his tongue. Now is not the time or place.

“Wait a minute!” It’s Angus who speaks up, and Davenport’s ears flick. The boy’s voice is desperate, and soon they both hear pages flipping. “Wait a minute. June and I were looking over Lucretia’s journals earlier, and— I’m sorry, Captain, I know you said not to, but we couldn’t—”

June cuts him off with, “We couldn’t not do anything! Our family is in danger.”

Davenport suddenly can’t breathe.

 _Our family_.

“We were looking over her journals from before Magnus, Taako, and Merle joined the Bureau, and she mentions— It doesn’t have the word adventure in it, of course. Nothing is ever that easy.” Angus is rambling now, as though they’re going to hang up the call if he stops talking. “But there’s a long period of no entries, starting right after Brian went rogue. It only picks up again on the day they joined.”

Davenport moves to Merle’s side, stealing the stone from willing hands. “What does it say?”

Angus stumbles just a moment, but recovers with, “There’s… There’s not much here. ‘Phandalin: 125. Brian: Lost. Soon to be erased. Lup’s Gaunlet recovered. Taako Taaco, Merle Highchurch, and Magnus Burnsides have been innoculated. What have I done?’”


	12. I Found It in Your Eyes

Even death has a heart.

Kravitz has seen such many times. A child brought to the other side, a person dead before their time. So many souls, so afraid of what waits for them once their time on the Prime Material Plane is over. Reapers do not always chase those who have escaped, and the Raven Queen does not always sit back and watch. Sometimes it takes a motherly hand to ease the passage. Sometimes it takes a woman, a goddess, to guide those home. But this is different. This is not a moment of death, but one of of _life_. A moment of _love_.

He is there, when Lady Istus returns to her physical form. He watches as her body is knitted back together, from her toes to the tip of her white-crowned head. Her eyes are warm and bright, her smile careful and kind. He watches as she steps forward, a hand extended to the Raven Queen. He watches as his Queen sheds her facade and leaps forward.

The two embrace, murmuring words too soft for him to hear. They are not for him; this is a moment not meant for him. And so Kravitz respectfully turns his head away, smiling despite himself.

* * *

The sight of the bracer makes his stomach to churn.

It brings back memories and not-memories alike. Images of himself through another’s eyes, moments when he wasn’t himself, but also wasn’t _not_ himself. Hours of following Lucretia, of sitting outside her door as she wept for the family he couldn’t remember; the family that looked at them both, but never really saw them. Days and months and _years_ of life above the world, destined to never really be a part of it. Though, if he is being honest, it isn’t the absence of the world he regrets. It’s the lack of choice he was given.

Davenport enjoys seeing the world from above. Even as a child, his dreams had not been to shoot for the stars, but to live among them. He’d taken to the sea, at first; living amongst the waters, watching the stars at night. The navy had suited him well. And when that part of his life came to an end, he took to the Institute. He’d climbed his way up, become a Captain, taken the Starblaster and a crew so carefully chosen there would be no mistaken their victory. He had always chosen to shoot up, to climb above his station. To become _more_ than anyone ever thought, even himself.

To live on the moon base would have been a dream once, and yet now it haunts his nightmares. It is a part of his life he tries not to think too much of, even now. And so he turns from the man beside him, back to the helm, to focus on the wheel between his fingers. Sturdy and true and real; his faithful Starblaster.

Still…

“You know, you could ask her to get rid of that.”

Magnus glances up from where he’s been fiddling with the bracer. His fingers stop their endless tracing of the symbol. His brow furrows. “Cap’n?”

“The— the bracer,” Davenport clarifies, and reduces the speed. They’re nearing their destination now; already the glittering of the sun against black glass is enough to momentarily halt their progress. “She got rid of mine. And, and Taako’s. You don’t need to wear it anymore.”

The gnome’s words only seem to confuse Magnus even more. He glances behind him, at where Barry, June, and Angus murmur amongst themselves. There’s a moment of silence there, of consideration. Magnus Burnsides had never been a man of careful words, and yet now seems to be mulling over each and every one. Finally, he turns his attention back to Davenport. “Why would I? I mean, yeah, to each their own, Cap’n, but… I dunno. She’s my sister. And even when nothing in this world made sense, she did. The Bureau did.”

Davenport shakes his head. “Nothing makes sense anymore.”

“This does.” His fingers trace the runes once more. Two hourglasses, nestled carefully against each other. Balance, for what they’ve done, and for what they have yet to do. For the family that always separates, only to return once more. Birds, constantly migrating north. A little smile curves the man’s lips, ever so slightly. “We do. If nothing else makes sense in this planer system, Cap’n, we do. Nothing’s gunna change that.”

It’s not the answer the Captain is hoping for, but perhaps it is the answer he needs. Something in his chest settles, and he turns back to the helm. For now, the Fighter receives no answer.

* * *

They land at Phandalin at precisely noon.

At first, nothing seems amiss. The circle of black glass remains exactly as it was five years ago, with nothing to break the line of sight. But then something glitters from the center, something bright and white, and Barry _rushes_ forward. Behind him, he can hear his family calling for him, demanding he stop, but he pushes his feet forward. His boots, adventurer’s quality for moments like this, cling even as others slip behind him. Only Magnus’ footsteps are steady, heavier with the sound of someone on his shoulders. Davenport, no doubt.

Something hits him in the chest, something powerful and _cold_ , and it takes his breath away. His vision whites out for a moment. He keeps moving forward, for what other choice does he have? His Lup is there; he knows that. He would know her anywhere. By the time his vision returns, he sees her.

Or rather, sees what he can.

She’s contained, as they are were. As three of them still are; soon to be two, he thinks with happiness. Her barrier is a stark white, though flares of pink and orange burst against the edges. Her magic. Lich or Evocation, it doesn’t matter. It’s her magic, and he can _feel_ it in the air. Her presence overwhelms his senses, even behind her magical prison. The taste of cinnamon on his tongue, the smell of a bonfire. Even now, he can see her dancing among the flames, but her movements are not accented with joy, with laughter. She is in pain, and he alone can free her.

Barry reaches forward, despite his Captain’s screams.

In that moment, he _becomes_ her.

He becomes his Lup, seeing through her eyes. He feels as she does. And in that moment, all he can feel is _heat_.

The fire within her is too much to bear.

She tries to scream for Taako, for Barry, but the words come out choked, thick with black smoke that flows from between painted lips. Her hands are glowing, her heart burning. They’re too close. They’re too close to her, arms outstretched, palms offered. They want to help her. Barry’s saying something, calling her “Babe,” “Love.” He trusts her; that’s what he says. She’s going to be okay. Everything will be okay. Taako approaches, quieter, but she can still hear “Lulu” drifting in her direction. His ears are pinned back, fear dancing in his eyes. Her lover, her heart, the two most important people in her life. All they want is to help. All they want is to anchor her, bring her down.

But the closer they get, the stronger the fire burns. Lup tries to move back, tries to put that distance between them, but she’s frozen in place. She can’t run away, not anymore. Fire is a dangerous element. She’s played with it enough to know. She’s burned down cities and melted the Hunger’s onslaughts. She alone knows what fire can do. And even now, Lup cannot control it. She can only watch in horror as Barry touches her hand, as Taako reaches for her. She can hear their flesh burn, taste smoke in the air, but neither seem to care. They only want her safe. They only want to protect her. They want her _home_.

She opens her mouth to beg them to flee, but it’s too late. The fire finally bursts free, swallowing the three of them. Their screams echo in Barry’s ears long after he’s pulled free from the illusion. He can still see their faces twisted in pain, hear Taako begging for her to come home. _It will be all right, Lulu_ , even as they’re reduced to ash. A sob bursts free.

Magnus is standing over him, holding him, Davenport with a gentle hand on his forehead. Brow furrowing, mustache twitching to hide his frown. They alone can anchor him, now that Taako is gone and Lup imprisoned. Barry finds himself pressing into Magnus’ grip, trembling despite himself.

“What do we do?” His already deep voice is a croak. “She’s in there. She’s— She’s _fighting_. But she can’t— We can’t—”

“We aren’t going to leave her,” Davenport says sternly. He pulls away, rocking to rest on the balls of his feet. Behind him, his tail swishes back and forth. “But you shouldn’t have run off like that. You don’t know these things, Barry. _We_ don’t even know what these things are, and this is the fourth one we’ve encountered. You need to think. Think of her, of your team.”

“I have to—” Despite himself, Barry feels tears well in his eyes. Magnus pulls him closer, letting him sit on one large thigh, and presses his temple against Barry’s. “I have to save her. What she’s seeing, it’s—”

Davenport cuts him off with, “Dangerous. To you, to us. To _her_.”

“She’s all that matters!”

But as soon as he says it, he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. Barry pulls back beneath Davenport’s gaze, a single eyebrow raised in disappointment, and pushes from Magnus. Once he’s back on his feet, he takes a moment to breathe; a moment they allow. This hasn’t been easy on any of them; he knows that. But this is Lup. This is his _wife_. He can’t abandon her to her own nightmares.

Magnus stands, giving him the space he needs. Davenport turns away. Barry’s hands tremble down by his side. His gaze never leaves the barrier, even as Merle slides his way across to finally join them. Four birds, standing beside the cage of a fifth. They won’t abandon her, he rationalizes; they simply have to formulate a plan. He knows this, logically. But logic can’t ease the pain in his heart.

Everything in him _aches_ to reach out, to grab his wife and pull her into his arms. To bring her back to them, no matter the danger. They are liches. They work for the Raven Queen. No death is permanent, not anymore. Perhaps it never was for them. And if death is the cost to have her return to him, then it is a price he is willing to pay.

“What’s the plan, Captain?” he asks, once his heartbeat has returned to normal, or as close as it will be until he’s whole again. “Do we… Can we Chance Lance it? Dispel it? Tell me what I can do, and I’ll do it. I’ll—”

“They’re steadily getting stronger,” Magnus murmurs, and flinches back as orange flares against the barrier once more. The heat scorches their faces. He has to lift his hands, to check his sideburns. “You think it’ll be like poppin’ a giant fire bubble?”

“I hope not.” Merle is patting his wooden arm, double-checking to make sure none of the twigs have caught on fire. “Otherwise, I’m headin’ back to the Starblaster to wait until you guys can figure this one out.” Beneath Barry’s glare, the dwarf holds up both hands defensively. “Relax, Bear, I’m only teasin’. But I don’t think I can call in a favor for another _arm_ , so we might wanna be careful with this one.”

They all turn to Davenport. The gnome isn’t paying them any visible attention, and instead is focused. His eyes are on the barrier, watching, studying the colors within as they flare. His eyes dart from each evidence of activity, lips pressing together, to form a tight frown. His tail flicks. Down by his side, his fingers tap, forefinger to pinky, only to reset each time the flares come. Barry wants to open his mouth, to ask the Captain what he’s doing, but knows better. Their stalwart Captain is thinking.

Eventually, Davenport breaks from his trance, turning to face them. “The flares are coming every five to seven seconds, with the strongest every thirty or so. We’ll need to strike at the same time that happens, which, with Magnus’ Lance and a bit of Merle’s magic, may— may be _just_ enough to break through. We’ll need to keep our distance, though. Just in case.”

“Just— just the four of us?”

“Do you want to bring Angus into this?” Magnus’ words are quiet, barely audible, but his point has been made. Barry glances away from him, fiddling with the ring on his finger. “We handled getting you out, more or less. We can do this, Bear. Nothin’s gunna happen to her.”

“Get back.” Davenport motions for them to move away, and sighs loudly as Merle slips and slides his way to Magnus’ side. He closes his eyes, lips pressing together. For a moment, he looks just as exasperated as he did on the ice planet, and Barry can’t help but snort. “A little more, please.”

The three do as he asks, with Magnus lifting Merle to aid him. Once they’ve moved back enough, Davenport joins them, then turns towards the flashing bubble. He claps his hands together, slowly pulling his palms apart, and a phantasmal glowing blade materializes, gripped between his fingers. Unlike most Shadow Blades, Davenport’s is not a short sword, but a dagger, curved and wicked. Amber eyes flash. Barry feels something tighten in his gut. The edges of his robe flutter.

“Merle?”

“Already there,” replies the dwarf, as pages of his Bible flutter in the nonexistence breeze. The white casing of the prison wibbles in response. Shades of red and orange brighten from within, and Merle grins. “Who wants to go next?”

Davenport steps forth, but Barry lifts his hand just slightly, just enough to give pause. Once he has their attention, he murmurs, “What can I do?”

The Captain’s lips twitch briefly as he lifts the dagger, flipping it between his fingers. “Be ready to bring her home, Barry.”

He flings the dagger forward. The blade spins expertly for just a brief second before puncturing the side of the barrier. A gash appears, shining and bright, and heat flares as a gust sends it in their direction. Barry reaches up a hand, to hold onto his hood. Merle turns slightly, to shield his arm. Davenport doesn’t react, but instead gives the next command. Magnus follows, obediently, and the Chance Lance sails through the air. It only has to touch the bubble for it to shatter, shards flying outwards, as fire and heart burst free.

This one is more powerful than the last. Magnus turns from it, putting himself between it and Merle and Davenport. Merle has to also turn his back completely, tucking himself around his arm. He curses, loud enough for them all to hear. But Barry doesn’t move, simply let the heat wash over him. The fire in the air is nothing compared to the warmth in his chest. His Lup, his wife, returned home to him once more.

He moves forward once the heat dies down, only to hesitate. There she is, floating in the air, her hair cascading around her face. Dynamic and resplendent. But there’s something else there, something floating behind golden eyes. Fear, he recognizes, as something tightens in his chest. She’s _afraid_.

He is, too, but not of her.

Never of her.

“Lup…” He takes a careful step forward, and those fiery eyes turn in his direction. “Lup, it’s all right. We’re here now, love. You’re safe.”

“Bear…” Her once carefree voice wavers, and his heart tightens in his chest. She floats backwards, hands lifted in surrender. “Stay away from me. I don’t— I can’t hurt you again!”

“You never hurt me.” Behind him, he can hear Magnus murmuring, checking over the rest of their family. That’s good. That’s okay. Right now, it’s him and Lup; just as it should be. “You could never hurt me, Lup. Whatever you saw— whatever you saw in there, it wasn’t real. None of it was real. We’re here. You’re safe. _We_ are safe. We just want to bring you home.”

Her eyes shift from him to the group behind him, then once more to his face. He can feel the heat radiating from her very core, feel the magic as it surrounds them both. He knows what she saw; he knows her deepest fears. And so Barry takes another step forward. Even as she flinches from him, even as she floats backwards, he moves forward. She has never given up on him. He won’t give up on her. He can’t.

“I’m here, love. You’ve never hurt us. You would _never_ hurt us.” He stands before her now, hands up. Slowly, ever so slowly, one of those hands shift, palm-up, offering. _Begging_. “Come home to me, Lup. Come home to us. You’re safe. I’m here. I’m here, Lup. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Barry…” Her voice cracks again, but the heat around her begins to fade as something within her clicks. From a roaring flame to a simmering ember, the fires dies, slowly but oh so surely. She descends, until finally she stands before him, trembling but not broken. Never broken; not his Lup. “Barry, I—”

She wavers, and he moves forward, to catch her. And suddenly, everything feels so _right_. His heart, returned to him. His wife, his Lup. She’s back in his arms, and the world is once more at peace.

Holding her close to his chest, stroking her hair, he murmurs, “I know. I know. I’m here, Lup. You’re safe.”

“I couldn’t protect you.”

“It’s okay. We all royally fucked up this time, babe.”

They stand like that for an immeasurable amount of time. The sun beating down on them, their family watching from a distance. The world around them is still, quiet, and nothing else matters in that moment. They are together again. Lup is safe,and she’s home. Nothing can tear them apart, no matter how it tries.

“I am never letting you go.”

She laughs, the sound wet with unshed tears, and buries her face in his shoulder. “You are horrifically romantic, Barold.” Lup turns, to press a kiss to his cheek. “But I think our family would have something to say against that.”

As if on cue, Davenport clears his throat from behind them. Barry doesn’t release Lup, but instead lifts her into his arms, turning them both to face their crew. Her weight feels right, and he takes a moment to pepper kisses in her hair. Before them, their family relaxes. There’s a smile on Merle’s face, tears in Magnus’ eyes. Only their Captain seems composed, though the twitching of his mustache betrays the emotion he tries to hide. His hands are clasped behind him, chin lifted ever so slightly.

“Capnport, I—” Lup stops suddenly, looking away from the Captain. Her gaze shifts over the entire crew, and then back to Barry. There’s a moment of silence, of choked pain, and then, “Taako.”

Barry shakes his head, even as something within threatens to break at her words. “We don’t— We don’t know where he is yet, Lup. We’re looking, but we’re— We can’t find him. Not yet. But we will. We…”

“No. No, I know—” She scrambles from his grip. He releases her, helping her stand, and she shakes her head. “I know where he is. I know where he is. We need to find him. We need to get to the Underdark. He’s there. He’s hidden away. He’s—”

“Whoa.” Barry rests his hands on her shoulders, and she jolts. Her eyes search his face, and only then does he notice the tears blossoming. His chest tightens once more. “Whoa, whoa, Lup. Lup, it’s okay. We’re going to find him. You know where he is?”

“The Underdark,” she repeats, and rests her hands atop his. “He’s in the Underdark, far from any occupied cities. I know— I saw it.”

It’s Magnus who steps forward, Magnus who breaks the barrier between them and the rest of the crew. Quietly, he murmurs. “How? I’m not doubting you, Lulu, but—”

“We haven’t been able to find him anywhere,” Merle supplies.

“You haven’t been looking in the right place.” She insists, and pulls away from Barry to face them. “I saw him. There was a moment, there, when we— I don’t know. I can’t explain it. But I saw him, Magnus. He’s alone. He’s scared, and… Fuck. He’s in the Underdark, you have to believe me. We need the Raven Queen. Ren. Someone who knows the way. We need to find him. We have to find him! I need my brother back.”

“We will.” Davenport steps forth this time, only to stand aside, to motion to the Starblaster in the distance. “We will contact both of them and see if they can tell us anything about where he might be. But for now, you need to rest. We will do what we can, Lup. We’re going to _get him back_. You have to trust us.”

“I do,” Lup says, and then her head droops. The tears finally spill forward. They’re barely noticeable on her face, but he seems them. They all do. “I do, Cap’n. I just… I _need_ Koko back.”

Barry slips his hand into hers and smiles at his wife. “We’re going to get him back. We haven’t come this far to fail. Not even the gods themselves could stop us now.”

* * *

“They are safe.”

“I know.”

“Taako is all that remains.”

“I know.”

From deep within her prison, Lucretia looks out at the world around her. Bright white and alarming, roaring winds, freezing snow. She can see the color fading even as she breathes; evergreen trees reduced to eton blue. Blinding ice now a soft gray. Despite it all, she smiles. They have not visited her since her last escape attempt, and that… that is okay. They think her weak and defeated, and perhaps she is. Perhaps she has accepted her fate. But she knows her family won’t.

“They will fight for him,” the same, stronger voice murmurs. Lucretia closes her eyes, settling against its warmth. The Director hums, finding courage where her other half cannot. “They will fight, and they will win.”

“And what of us?”

“We will do as we have always done.” They turn their gaze to the horizon, searching for some light, some color, amongst the growing gray. When they find nothing, they turn inwards. “We endure. We survive, for them.”


	13. Stripped to the Core

Barry doesn’t leave her side.

Davenport takes up the rear of the pack as they return to the Starblaster. Merle on Magnus’ shoulders as they trek back across the glass, Barry holding Lup as they walk side by side. Love blossoms between them; he’s always known it. Love between them, love within their entire family. Not even a decade of loneliness, of loss, could tear apart what they had, and what continues to blossom even in the midst of their horrors. It is a love they never could have found on their home planet, a love brought together by happenstance and nurtured over a tremulous, torturous century.

He steps into the Starblaster, letting the hull doors shut behind him. As soon as they are safe, the entire family seems to collapse around Lup. Barry is the first to bring her into his arms, and soon Magnus envelops them both in a bear hug. Even Merle moves forward, burying his face in Lup’s middle. Davenport stands back for a moment, simply watching them, but when Lup’s gaze finds his, he can’t help himself.

What’s one more group hug?

Four pieces of his heart, brought back together once more. Davenport feels himself being lifted, and for once he doesn’t complain. He buries his face in Lup’s shoulder. Her fingers brush through his hair, mussed and all out of place due to her bubble, but he doesn’t care. She’s back now. For once, he lets himself feel that; lets himself _understand_ just how much he and his family need each other. No one man is a mountain, and no one gnome can save the universe. Not by himself.

“It’s good to be home.”

* * *

“What’s the plan, Captain?”

Barry stands beside his Captain, hands clasped behind him. Lup is asleep, resting from her endeavour, with Magnus and Merle watching over her. There’s no trace of the Hunger’s power on her, Merle had said, but they can’t leave anything to chance. If Lucretia can be corrupted from her prison, then despair could claim any of them. Especially the Twins, separated for so long by men and monsters. It’s an option none of them want to think about, but one they must consider. It’s what pushes him to fly faster, to calculate every option available to them.

“Lup mentioned the Underdark,” Barry continues, when Davenport doesn’t answer. “I don’t know if it’s the truth or the trap, but it seems like the only clue we have.”

Davenport nods, not taking his eyes off the sky, “More than likely a trap, but that, that doesn’t mean Taako isn’t there. The best-laid traps are the ones with held promises. If she says he’s there, he’s there. The question is... the question is, what else is waiting for us there?”

“Do you think we should contact Ren?”

“Her insight might prove helpful,” he murmurs, easing the Starblaster into a gentle coast. They’re coming up on Refuge now, a course he must have set while on auto-pilot. He certainly doesn’t remember doing it. “She’s the only one of us that has ever been to the Underdark, aside from Taako, and…”

“I know.” Barry’s voice is unbearably soft, and Davenport winces slightly. Now is not the time for pity, he wants to say, but bites back the comment. “I think she would be of help, too. Now that Lup and I are back, I’m not sure if the Raven Queen will still want us on this mission or not, but we—”

“Do not speak for me, little bird.”

The Raven Queen’s voice drifts from behind them, and both Davenport and Barry turn. Before them, standing humbly in a black feathered dress, is the Goddess of Life and Death herself. By her side, _Istus_. Warm and real, shimmering in all her silver glory. There’s a new emblem in her dress, a silver embroidery where she had been struck just a week earlier, but the death of her physical body seems to be of little consequence. The Raven Queen steps forward, to greet them, and Barry quickly hits his knee.

“My Queen, I—”

“At ease, Barry.” Despite the cold tone in her voice, the Raven Queen smiles. She crosses the distance between them, and brings the lich into a warm, welcoming hug. Barry sags against the goddess, trembling. Resting a hand in his hair, she murmurs, “Welcome back.”

“Mistress, Lup, she’s—”

“I am well aware she, too, has been returned to us.” Taking a step back, the Raven Queen clasps her hands together. Istus stands by her side, looping an arm through her lover’s. She rests her head against a feathered shoulder. There may have been a whirlwind surrounding them, but the goddesses appear as calm as ever. “I will visit her, too, in a moment, but it seems as though we have business to discuss.”

Istus turns her eyes onto Davenport, and centuries of sorrow swim in her eyes. Despite this, her face doesn’t drop from the smile. “We’ve heard you have news about my Taako.”

“If you can call it that, Lady Fate.” Davenport returns her smile with one of his own, but realizes it doesn’t feel right on his face. And so he lets it fall, instead leaning back in the Captain’s chair. “Lup mentioned he’s held up in the Underdark. We don’t know where, but she swears he is there, somewhere. All we have to do is find him.”

“I offer my aid. Once we’re done there, I can try to find him with you. He is one of mine, my darling emissary. I—”

“We cannot risk them attacking you again, my lady.” He turns from them both, trying to ignore the hurt that crosses Istus’ face. It’s easier to pretend. It’s easier for all of them if he keeps his gaze on the horizon, keeps his heart from softening at every hurt expression. Nothing can stop them now, so long as they keep focus. “Ren will accompany us to the Underdark, and we will find Taako. We cannot risk putting you in anymore danger.”

“Your concern is appreciated,” the Raven Queen inserts, and suddenly is by his side. She places a gloved hand delicately on his shoulder, “but it is unneeded. We were caught unprepared, and that will not happen a second time. You have two goddesses on your side, Captain Davenport; remember to use your resources according.”

“Your Majesty—”

“We are accompanying you, Captain, with or without your _permission_.” Her voice hardens, and he nearly flinches beneath her touch. “A goddess does not need a mortal’s command to walk amongst this world and its inhabitants.”

As much as he wants to be offended by yet another act of disobedience, Davenport can only smile. They aren’t alone, he reminds himself. This isn’t just another cycle; this isn’t just another world they’re going to lose to the hunger. This is their home now, and their family is in real, permanent danger. To lose them now would be to lose them forever. And that… that is one thing he cannot risk, not when they’re so close to finally being reunited.

“Ren will accompany us anyways, just in case.” There, an order they can all follow, no matter whether the goddesses accompany them or not. The ship shakes as they land, and Davenport hops from the Captain’s chair. “She may have some idea of where they’re hiding him.”

* * *

“I’m sorry.” Ren leans across the bar, staring at the gnome before her. “You want me to accompany you to _where_?”

“The Underdark,” Davenport repeats, for what is probably the third time. “Lup believes that Taako is being held down there, and Magnus mentioned that you attended a show there. We think it— It could be connected, considering how each of them have been in a place that… holds some sort of memory or fear or… something of some importance. We need you to guide us there.”

Her ears pin back, hiding behind strands of black hair. “I know what you’re asking of me, but… I _left_ the Underdark, Captain. I finally was able to escape, and now you’re asking me to go back? Do you know what they will do to me if they find me?” Panic rises in her voice. “No one leaves the Underdark and returns, not with their lives.”

“I understand.” He softens his voice. “But Taako needs you, Ren. _We_ need you. And Lady Istus and the Raven Queen have both agreed to accompany us. Merle and Magnus have both vouched for your credibility. No one will touch you, not so long as we are around. I can promise you that much.”

Her ears droop now, and Ren looks away. She reaches for the rag, used just a moment ago to tidy up The Davy Lamp, only to pull her hand back. Indecision colors her face, darkens her gaze. She’s afraid; that much is obvious. But if she’s anything like the rest of their allies, she also knows the danger at place. Davenport could push her, could nudge her to make the right decision. But instead he remains quiet. She will make her own choices. He cannot force her one way or the other.

“I promised myself I’d never go back,” she finally says, and her voice cracks. “I told myself I was free, and I would never return to that place. But I can’t…” Oh, gods, there are tears in her eyes. He wasn’t prepared for this one. “I can’t just _abandon_ Taako.”

“No one is saying you would be abandoning him.” And they aren’t. He understands; he knows what it’s like to not be able to go back home. Not just because of the Hunger, but because they had all found a new home. The two-sunned world isn’t theirs to claim anymore. Those people are not theirs. He knows. He understands. That doesn’t make it any easier. “We could, could find him without you. It would just take longer.”

Ren laughs, the sound broken and wet. “You sure do know how to make a girl feel better, Captain. Gods!” She reaches up, to scrub at her face. “All right, all right. I’ll— I’ll come along. But I can’t… I mean it, I can’t promise I’ll be of any help. I haven’t been back home in over a decade. Things may have changed.”

“I know this isn’t easy.” Reaching over, Davenport rests a hand atop hers. “But thank you, Ren.”

* * *

 

“I used to live in Maerimydra,” Ren ducks her head beneath a stalactite, moving to the side to allow the light from her lantern to guide the others around the formations. “But that was before they sealed it. I was born there, and… and we escaped. Taako came to Ched Nasad when I was barely a hundred, and…”

She trails off, but moves to take the lead once more. The weight of Taako’s life, of her own past, comes bearing down on her shoulders all at once. She’s not a Bird, not a Red Robe. She’s not a hero, or even a real sorcerer. She’s just Ren, proprietor of The Davy Lamp, and here she is, guiding five of the Heroes of Faerun and _two goddesses_ through the Underdark. Five Heroes, the Grim Reaper himself, and two goddesses, all at her heel, expecting her to take them straight to their lost loved one.

By the gods, how did she end up in this position?

“Ched Nasad was destroyed by an attack after I left for the surface.” She casts levitate, to allow her lantern to float upwards, to allow light to spread across the ruins of her old hometown. The sight alone is enough to make her heart ache in ways words cannot express, but still Ren manages to hold herself together. “But it was here I first saw Taako, which… was amazing, in all honesty. Non-drow weren’t allowed in the upper levels, and yet there he was! A high-elf, standing among us, teaching us. And he…”

A hand rests on her shoulder, and Ren nearly jumps. Slender fingers, a black glove, and once more her heart _leaps_ as she realizes just how close she is standing to the Raven Queen herself. Part of her wants to fall to her knees in reverence. But when the goddess glances down at her, smiles softly, all she can do is smile back.

“He’s here,” Istus says, and steps forward. “I can feel him.”

“Shielded, undoubtedly,” Barry supplies. The edges of his coat ripple as he dons his Reaper guise. He floats across the rubble, Lup soon by his side. “Just as Lup was.”

Lup extends a hand, intertwining her bony fingers with Barry’s. Ren feels something in her chest tighten as the Reaper breathes, “Ko…”

No. No, now’s not the time for emotions. Ren starts to move forward, but Davenport cuts her off. One cutlass is drawn, his free hand lifted, commanding attention. Amber eyes search for a moment before he says, “Spread out, search everywhere. If he’s here, then we’ll find him. Ren, I need you to—”

Davenport’s words are lost on her. Something moves, in the corner of her vision, and the drow turns on her heel. From the darkness of her ruined home, two bright yellow eyes stare back at her. They’re larger than any creature’s, with slitted pupils. Two more appear, and then two more; again and again, until the entire wall seems to be filled with them. The last pair appear, and beneath them, a mouth splits the darkness. Her blood turns to ice. Ren opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

The lantern above them shatters, plunging the ruins into darkness.

* * *

 

“Ren, I need to take me to the exact spot where Sizzle it Up was— Ren!”

Davenport tries to rush forward, but it’s too late. The drow floats before them, lifted by an unseen force. Her head is tilted back, mouth open, face twisted into a horrified expression. The same expression Magnus, Barry, Lup had all worn. From the shadows, a male drow steps forward, wand lifted. Fear squeezes his chest as purple eyes glow stark white. A barrier begins to form around her body.

“Magnus,” Davenport whirls, to face his family, “the Chance Lance! Now!”

* * *

 

Darkness surrounds her, encircling every inch of her lithe form. Not even her eyes, gifted with the dark vision of her heritage, can pierce its murkiness. Panic fills her heart. Ren struggles to move, but finds her body won’t listen to her. Only her ears can move, swiveling, twisting, searching for any sign of her friends. There is nothing. No light, no voices, no rocks shifting as men shift through the darkness to once more find each other.

A tendril of inky blackness materializes from the darkness to wrap around her throat. The tip flicks across her cheek, and then applies pressure beneath her chin. She’s forced to look up. Staring in the eyes of a monster. A strangled noise escapes and nothing else. Once more, she’s been silenced. By magic or her own fear, Ren isn’t sure. All she knows is she’s alone, and she is in terrible danger.

“Little one,” the creature coos, its mouth once more splitting the darkness. It speaks not common, but the drow language of her childhood. “You believe yourself able to return to the home you abandoned? To the people you let die? For an Eladrin? For an _alien_?”

The tendril tightens around her throat. Her lungs burn as oxygen is suddenly restricted, struggling to breathe. There’s enough oxygen to stay conscious, but not enough to be comfortable, which seems to be objective. It doesn’t want her to die. It doesn’t want her to black out. But it doesn’t release her, either. It simply holds her there, slowly lifting her by the throat. Her feet dangle, the tips of her boots just scraping the ruins below. Yellow eyes stay fixed on hers, tearing into her very soul.

“Tell me, drow, what is it that you fear most?”

June flashes through her mind, the little girl she’d come to see as a _daughter_. Taako, her mentor and friend. The Saviors of Faerun, Cassidy, the little life she’d built in Refuge. Not grand enough for a hero, but perfect for Ren the Chef. Ren, with a family and friends that loved her not for what she could be, but for what she is. The creature’s mouth drips with color. One of its pupil shifts, and suddenly she’s staring directly into a perfect circle of glittering black opal.

“I see.”

The tendril releases her, and Ren falls. She falls to the ground, and then below it. Through miles and miles of darkness. Cities pass before her vision. She reaches out for them, for the drow that walk the streets, but all she feels is stone. Rock scrapes her skin, tearing her clothes to shreds, digging into her flesh. The smell of blood fills her nose. Dirt coats her mouth, clogs her lungs. The world collapsing in on her, making her feel so small, so lonely. Helpless once more.

And then suddenly she is small once more. The smell of blood is replaced by smoke, the taste of dirt now blood coating her tongue. All around her, people are screaming. Maerimydra falling, her parents running. She’s in her mother’s arms, little fingers clinging to matted white hair. Her father is two steps behind them. He’s guarding their rear, firing off shots at those who try to follow them. She’s bleeding. Her mother is crying. Her father roars in rage.

The ceiling above them buckles, then gives out.

She screams.


	14. We're Lost and Confused

The ceiling above buckles, and Ren screams from her mother’s arms. Her father is quick to fire off shots, to keep the largest rocks from crashing into his family, but it isn’t enough. One strikes her mother across the back of her head, sending the pair flying forwards. Ren tumbles from her mother’s arms, rolling. Stones cut into her flesh, leaving bloody nicks in her cheeks and hands. She comes to a stop against a cave wall. Lifting her head, she realizes she can no longer see her father; a collapsed wall separates them. Her mother is closer, bloody, crawling on her hands and knees.

“ _Ilhar_!” The little girl cries, reaching out.

The older drow softens as Ren moves. Slowly, little by little, she crosses the distance between them. Her mother’s hand encloses around the smaller, and once more Ren is held close to her chest. A hand in her hair, rocking them both back and forth. The smell of blood is thick. Dirt clogs her nostrils, but still Ren clings to her mother’s torn and dirty dress. Over and over again, she cries for her mother, begs for her _ilhar_ to make it all go away.

“Ren,” her mother cooes, face buried in her daughter’s dark hair. “Ren, _ussta dalharil_. _Ussta dalharil, dos phu’ sreen’aur._ ”

My daughter, you are safe. You are _safe_. Mother’s words, whispered as they hold each other. Father would find them soon. They will be reunited. For now, she is safe, comforted by her mother’s presence, her mother’s words. Words echoing in her ears, even as the darkness shifts, forming shadows. From the shadows, monsters. Ugly, dark, hideous, clawed things that grab her mother by her hair, grab the child by the back of her dress. She’s torn from her mother’s arms, sobbing. Her mother screams name, over and over and over again, reaching for her. Ren, Ren, Ren—

“Ren!”

Arms tighten around her, pulling her from the darkness, but they’re not her mother’s. Ren knows that immediately. The arms are strong and kind, just as her mother’s had once been, but they’re different. The voice murmuring in her ears is not her mother’s, the language not theirs. Common, with a slight accented lilt. Little by little, Ren’s vision returns to her. Faces, once a blur, focus. Davenport, kneeling beside her. Merle, a gentle hand on her forehead. Magnus and the Reapers, standing away, watching nervously. A drow, a stranger, lays limp beneath them. Glistening behind them, a bright white bubble hovers inches from the ground. It takes her a moment to realize her lantern is glowing strong and bright above them, untouched.

But of all those gathered, it’s Istus who holds her. Istus who brushes her fingers through the drow’s hair and murmurs words only she can hear. Soft, comforting words; the words of a mother, of a guardian. A goddess, kneeling on her level, holding Ren close to her chest. She doesn’t deserve it, she thinks; her chest tightens. Those gathered blur once more, and it’s only after Ren blinks and the tears fall that she realizes she’s crying. Sobbing, shaking in a goddess’ arms.

“Oh, my little one,” murmurs Lady Fate. She holds her closer, presses a kiss to the drow’s forehead, “you are safe now. Nothing can hurt you anymore. I’m here.”

“What the fuck was that?” Magnus’ voice is in stark contrast to Istus’, loud and frightened. Ren tears her eyes away from the ethereal goddess to the Fighter. He’s pale, she realizes. The Chance Lance rests in his hand, clutched between shaking fingers. His gaze shifts from the body to Ren, and then to their Captain. “What the absolute _fuck_ was that?”

Davenport pushes himself to his feet, dusting off his pants. He gives Ren one last, gentle glance before turning to his Fighter. Taking a deep breath, he struggles to put his words together before finally saying, “A foolhardy acolyte with ambitions bigger than his magic.” As Istus stands, lifting Ren to her feet as well, the Captain turns from them and makes his way to the body between Lup and Barry. The Reapers float to Kravitz’s side. “In other words: an idiot.”

“But why go after Ren?”

Davenport doesn’t look at the Fighter. He can’t. It doesn’t matter why they went after Ren; not to him. He has a few ideas, most of them revolving around Taako and all the progress he’s made on this plane, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that they _did._ They went after the weakest of their group. They went after _Ren._ Ren, who trusted him to protect her. Ren, who only came because he promised she would be safe. The drow who had fought her way to the surface, found inspiration, a hidden passion, from Taako’s words. The Captain closes his eyes, running a hand over his face. _I’ll make this up to you_ , he thinks. _I promise_.

“Taako…” Lup’s voice breaks his concentration. Her eyes turn to the bubble before the group, Davenport’s gaze following. Behind them, he hears Ren gasp the name as well, as if only just now realizing they had found him. But it’s Lup whose voice breaks, Lup who turns her pleading expression to him. “Captain, we have to—”

“I know.” He takes a moment to look the body over, frowning. A drow, nameless to any of them, with bright white robes. The only thing of note on his body is the wand in his hand, useless at the moment, and the necklace hanging from his neck. A long, silver chain with a small black opal, cracked, but still in one piece. He takes the necklace into his hand, twisting it around his fingers. In the back of his mind, he remembers Taako having a perfect circle of black opal. If opal making an appearance during that Crystal Heartache. Shaking the thoughts away, Davenport tucks the necklace into his pocket, then stands. “All right. Everyone, follow my lead and stay back unless commanded. We don’t want another incident like last time.”

A pointed look at Barry has the Reaper shrugging sheepishly. Still, Davenport smiles, crossing the ruined area between himself and the barrier. For a moment, he can only stare up at it. Fear creeps into his chest, squeezing at his heart. Behind him, Ren sobs, the sounds growing softer, but still just as panicked. He would deal with that later; one thing at a time. Once Taako was safe, he would focus on Ren. Once another piece had returned his family, then he could focus on their friends and allies. Silently, he thanks the gods for— well, for Istus herself.

A warmth blossoms in his chest. His own or Istus’, he’s not sure.

Magnus’ voice is gentle as he murmurs, “Captain?”

“Just a moment.” He hates how his voice trembles. “I need to focus.”

Davenport takes a second to breathe, to force the last dredges of fear from his heart. He hears heavy footsteps moving closer, just a smidge, and lifts his hands. If they think they’re stopping him this time, they have another thing coming. Taako is part of his crew, his family; he is under _his_ protection. There is nothing they need to do or worry about. Not so long as their Captain is here to save them. No one gnome is a mountain, but there is only one Master of Illusion among them. His burden; never theirs.

Fingertips only have to touch the edge of the barrier for Davenport to be carried inside, vision darkening slightly before _exploding_ in a sea of color.

* * *

 

He still hasn’t had a chance to visit Glamour Springs. He knows it’s where Taako calls home, at least for the moment, but there are too many stories there; too many moments he wasn’t around for. He knows it is a place Taako stays to seek redemption, to find peace. A place of love and light, especially now that they have true goal anymore. Davenport had always wanted to see it, but now… But now, merging with Taako’s prison, he wished he had.

The scene before him is Glamour Springs; at least, how it’s been described to him. Taako in his caravan, grinning and laughing. Food flying, magic twisting ingredients until they’re just what he needs. But when Taako lifts he head, he doesn’t see forty strangers; he sees the entire family, gathered, laughing together. Angus bouncing, clapping his hands in delight, as Kravitz smiles, gaze shifting between his boyfriend and their son. Lup leaning on Barry, grinning wide up at her brother. Magnus and Lucretia, the latter sitting proudly on her brother’s shoulders as they, too, enjoy the show. Her arms crossed atop his head, chin resting delicately on one. Even he is there, smallest of smiles teasing the not-Davenport’s lips.

“Cha’boy’s all done,” Taako grins, passing the plate around. “Tell me what you think.”

He knows what’s coming. He’s long since figured out the twists these prisons held, and how horrible they truly could be. But knowing it’s coming and being prepared are two different things. Davenport closes his eyes to block out the sight, but he can’t do the same for the sounds. Quiet, murmured happiness that quickly twists into something violent, something deadly. Choking, wheezing, coughing. Angus’ panicked breaths as he squeals for Kravitz, for Taako. Lup’s choked cries. He hears someone hit their knees, hears what he imagines is Lucretia falling off her perch. The only person he doesn’t hear is Kravitz, and Davenport forces himself to look up at the man.

But it’s not Kravitz anymore, not really.

The man before them is lighter skinned than Kravitz is, recognizable only because of the Voidfish’s song. Despite looking vaguely like Sazed, the man’s face is featureless, though soon it shifts, changes into something not _quite_ right, not _quite_ human. The creature turns his gaze to Davenport and smiles a too-wide smile. The gnome’s blood turns to ice. Darkness creeps into the corners of his vision as his chest tightens, the weight of his— of Taako’s— actions hitting him. His entire family, dying, murdered, killed by his own hands. Another accident, another careless slip of his magic. What good is he, if everything he does goes so horribly wrong? What good is he, if the only thing he _is_ good at is hurting those he loves? Reaching up, Taako grips his hair, tugging, as he panic overtakes him, and Davenport.

And then, suddenly, he is no longer Taako.

He is not freed from the Illusion, he realizes, but instead has become part of it. He’s lying on the grass, his family’s strangled breaths echoing in his ears. His heart is pounding too fast, his stomach churning with pain. Every part of his skin is on fire, but he can’t raise his hands, can’t make the pain stop. The poisoning coursing through him is fast, effective. It has him nearly immobilized in less than thirty seconds. As Davenport lays writhing, someone steps above him, blocking out the sun. The not-Kravitz, he realizes; the not-Sazed. A monster with no true face, with blackness creeping along his skin. He kneels, looming over Davenport, and a grin splits the blank canvas.

“You cannot save them.” A clawed hand reaches to brush across his face. Davenport’s skin crawls, the fire in his blood growing. Black opal shines in the other’s eyes. “You think you’re doing the right thing, little bird, but you are nothing compared to us. Without the Light, you will be nothing but dirt beneath our feet. Take to the sky, as you always have. Fly away. The white bird must fly, _or you will die_.”

Bile rises in his throat as his chest squeezes, but still the Captain manages a spat, “Fuck you,” before the world around him grows dark. Cold settles into his bones.

The last thing he remembers is Taako’s anguished scream.

When Davenport comes to, Merle is standing over him. Istus has left them, choosing to stand in front of the barrier holding Taako in place. Darkness has started to creep along the bottom, spreading along the outside in inky tendrils. Flashes of colors dance along the edges of the blackness; streaks of blue and red and yellow and green. Familiar and sickening. Terrifying. He tries to force the memories from the forefront of his mind. Easier to concentrate on the now if the past doesn’t come up to bite you in the ass.

“Oh, Taako…” Istus places a hand on the side of the barrier, and the tendrils all rush forward. It’s the Raven Queen who stops them, her palm atop Istus’ hand. They move around her hand, but otherwise continue their paths upward. She turns her attention from them to the Captain. “What can we do?”

“I— I don’t know,” Davenport admits, pushing himself to his feet. Merle offers him a hand, and for once the Captain allows it. He takes a moment to steady himself, to ready his thoughts. Put the pieces together, explain what you’ve learned. Don’t mention the creature within the vision, the creature that knew you were there.  “The others weren’t like this. They were steadily getting stronger, but…”

“Let us help.” It’s the Raven Queen who speaks next. She intertwines her fingers with Istus’, then places her other hand on the barrier. Istus follows her example, smiling softly at her lover. “Pan has granted you his blessing. Allow us to do the same.”

Their hands begin to glow, and the tendrils retreat. For a brief moment, Davenport swears he hears them squeal in pain, but shakes his head. It’s nothing but leftover audio from the illusion. His family dying, wheezing, screaming. Taako staring on in horror as, once more, his transmutation magic failed him. Helpless people, dying because of him. Their family, murdered because of his hubris. No. No! Davenport forces himself to push past those fears. It hadn’t been Taako then, and it isn’t him now. Taako had never hurt his family. Taako _would never_. All of this is nothing but illusion magic meant to destroy them from within. They won’t fall to it. _He_ won’t fall to it.

Merle moves into the corner of his vision, breaking those thoughts, and places his hand against the barrier as well. Slowly, the whiteness begins to fade. The barrier remains, but the elf trapped within begins to form. It isn’t until Ren steps forward, wand up, hand trembling, that it finally becomes translucent. Davenport feels nausea rise at the sight within. Taako, curled in a fetal position, his face twisted in pain and fear. His hands are black, the same dark tendrils slowly crawling up his body. His eyes are open, staring, unseeing. His irises are a bright yellow. The tendrils along his arms begin to climb, speed increasing as the bubble wavers. Istus cries out in horror.

He doesn’t remember leaping forward. He doesn’t remember unsheathing his cutlasses. All he knows in that moment is the force behind his strikes, the inhuman scream that bursts forth as he rakes the blades across the surface. Two little tears break open. An icy blast catches him by surprise, throwing the gnome backwards, but Magnus is there. Arms outstretched, he is there to snatch Davenport from the air and pull him close to his chest. With the barrier no longer whole, Taako’s voice becomes audible. The words are intelligible, but they don’t have to hear them to know. He’s screaming, sobbing, begging for help. Begging for his _family_. It’s too much for them.

The Raven Queen releases Istus’ hand and reaches within the barrier, her face contorting in pain. Her hand finds Taako’s, and soon after Istus’ does, as well. They pull him towards them, his hand breaching the surface, and the barrier shatters. Istus and the Raven Queen seem to fold around Taako, using their bodies to shield the elf from the falling shards. Solid now, Davenport notes, not just refracted light; solid enough to leave small scrapes in both goddess’ skins, though they soon heal over. That can’t be good. But, again, it’s something that can wait. He files the information away, sheaths his blades, and moves to the goddesses’ side.

They’ve shifted now, to kneel in the center of the shards. Taako rests between them, his head on Istus’ lap, his hand in the Raven Queen’s. His breathing is shallow, soft whimpering noises that shake Davenport to his core. Merle takes his place next to the Captain, one hand resting gently on Taako’s chest. There’s blood on his shirt, a small shard sticking from his breast. He doesn’t seem to notice as the soulwood begins to glow. Soft cherry blossoms bloom along the wood, slow but steady. The darkness has stopped climbing, but it hasn’t faded. It hasn’t retreated. Color returns to his cheeks, his breathing growing steadily stronger, but _still_ the darkness remains; black streaked with vibrant colors.

“It’s not your time, yet,” the Raven Queen murmurs, and Davenport isn’t sure if she’s trying to convince them, Taako, or herself. She covers his hand with her second, bringing them  to her chest. Her voice, usually so still and even, trembles, “You’re all right. It’s going to be all right, Taako.”

There’s a moment of silence as those gathered watch in horror. Even Ren comes over to join them, sitting next to the Queen. She doesn’t reach forward. Tears roll down down her cheeks, silent now. All they can do is _watch_ as the light spreads from Merle’s fingers, dipping beneath Taako’s tunic, shining within paled skin. A moment passes, and then a second, and Merle finally withdraws his hand. The cherry blossoms fall, petal by petal, from the soulwood arm. There’s color in Taako’s lips now, a warmth glowing even beneath the tendrils.

“He’s stable,” Merle says, and Davenport exhales. “He needs to get somewhere safe, but… He’ll be all right.”

They all have their moments. Lup collapses into Barry’s arms, whispering something unintelligible. Her husband wraps his arms around her, holding her close, murmuring his own reassurances. Kravitz, seeing his chance, moves to Istus’ side, taking one of Taako’s hands in his own. Ren seems to sag, leaning on the Raven Queen briefly before she remembers and straightens, stumbling through an apology. The goddess doesn’t seem to mind, and gently pats Ren’s leg with the nearest hand, now freed from Taako’s. Istus reaches forward, to brush strands of gold from the elf’s face. Magnus reaches down, offering a hand, and Davenport takes a moment to accept the gesture, to squeeze gently. Taako is still unconscious, but he’s alive. He’s _alive_ , and that is all that matters. That’s more than was certain just a few moments earlier.

“Allow me,” the Raven Queen says, and seems to turn inward for a moment.

It’s not too long after that there’s a bright flash of light, a rift opened nearby. From within, they can see the main room of the Starblaster, Angus and June sitting with their backs facing the group. They turn at the burst of light, and Angus’ eyes widen. He cries out for Taako. June has to hold him back from running through the rift. As the boy screams for his father, Kravitz kneels beside the Raven Queen, stealing his boyfriend from his mother’s arms. No one seems to mind, each taking their own time getting to their feet, steadying themselves. Kravitz travels through the rift first, murmuring gently to the children.

One by one, the others each follow through the rift. Lup and Barry watch their backs, keeping an eye out for anyone who might try to follow. Magnus slips through first, jogging to keep up with Kravitz. Istus follows not too far behind, an arm wrapped around Ren’s shoulders, her other hand slipping neatly into Raven’s. Davenport lingers another moment. The Reapers turn to glance at their Captain, but he waves them away. He’ll only be a second, he tells them. They don’t look convinced.

Taking a deep breath, Davenport looks over the ruined city. The worst is yet to come. If Taako’s situation is any indicator, Lucretia’s prison will be impenetrable. If Taako was already starting to corrupt, then Lucretia… No. No, he can’t think that way. For now, they must count their victories. Six birds have returned to their home amongst the stars. Five of his crew are safe, and now only one remains. He reminds himself of that as Merle hooks their arms. He reminds himself of their victories as they step through the rift and the children greet them, moving in to ask questions, to demand answers.

He reminds himself of every hardship they’ve endured, every death they’ve survived, and every victory they’ve savored. It’s enough to carry him past the crowd and into his office, even as hopelessness threatens to rear its head.  


	15. Love Will Find the Answer

Distantly, Ren can hear someone calling her name.

She lifts her head, eyes unseeing, and struggles to locate the source. Memories flash through her mind— the Underdark, her parents, Taako, her escape— keeping her from fully being able to focus. She feels as though she’s split, neither truly here nor there. It isn’t until there’s warmth against her arm, fingers curling around her lower arm, that she’s finally able to pull herself back into the present. Purple eyes shift from a particularly shiny part of the wall to her new companion.

“Captain Davenport.”

His name comes from her lips on the back of a rough croak, and Ren can’t help but wince. Davenport frowns briefly before twitching the fingers of his free hand. A few seconds later, a burnt-orange mage hand floats towards them, offering out a glass of water. It isn’t until he looks at her, eyebrow arching, that she understands. It’s for her. Taking the glass, she murmurs a quiet, “My thanks,” before bringing it to her lips.

He watches her, and suddenly Ren is aware of how _terrible_ she must look. It’s been less than ten hours since Taako’s return, and still she hasn’t moved from where Istus helped her into the Starblaster. The couch is comfortable. There aren’t any extra rooms. She was only supposed to be here to find Taako, not to remain like the others, and yet even now she can’t bring herself to stand and find the Captain. She isn’t supposed to be here anymore.

But she can’t leave, either.

The glass, drained of its contents, is placed on the table. Davenport reaches over, to rest a hand on her wrist, squeezing, before he pulls away. It’s a brief moment of contact, but by the gods, is it enough. The dam finally breaks as the past twenty-four hours come rushing back. Her shoulders tremble. Her chest tightens. A sob bursts forth from the drow as she buries her face in her hands.

“We have the coordinates for Refuge ready for your word, Ren.” The Captain’s voice is quiet, barely audible above her own tears. Her ears flick, to acknowledge him, while she struggles to pull herself together again. “I— I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. I’ll be sure Taako knows when he wakes up. But I… I also think it’s time we stop putting others in danger just to keep our heads above water.”

“Stop.”

It’s said with more force than she intended, and yet Ren cannot find it in herself to regret it. The drow pushes herself up, taking a moment to breathe, to wipe her tears away. Her chest burns, throat tight. But still she pushes through.

“I don’t— I _can’t_ go home yet. I appreciate… Captain, I appreciate everythin’ y’all have done for me, but I can’t go home until Taako’s awake. I don’t mean to impose on y’all, but—”

She expects him to argue, but instead all the Captain says is, “I know.”

“And I don’t mind stayin’ on the couch until he does. And if there’s— if there’s anythin’ I can do to help around here, I will. I know Lup ain’t in the mood for cookin’. The kids need someone to look after them. Anythin’ I can do to help, I will! Y’all have always been so good to me. I wouldn’t be where I am without y’all, without Taako, but—”

“Ren.” His voice is unbearable soft. “I know. I know, you want to help, but we’ve… _I’ve_ already put you into too much danger. I made you a promise. I couldn’t keep it.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was. It is.” Davenport shakes his head. “I… Nothing has gone as planned, and I should have known better than to bring innocents into this. We should have learned from the first time never to do such a thing again.”

One hand lifts, to wipe across his face, and it’s only then _she_ can see how exhausted _he_ is. Two months since this all started, two months since the first bird had been stolen from them. She can’t imagine what it’s been like for him. She doesn’t want to. To lose your home and family is one thing; Ren has endured both. But to lose your home plane, to live amongst a people that are yours but are not, and then to lose every ounce of security you’ve found in a single moment… Gods, no, she can’t _imagine_.

“If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else,” murmurs the drow, and Davenport pulls back, as if slapped. White brows furrow, and Ren continues, “They were there. They were waiting. They killed Lady Fate’s physical form once already. At least— That’s what Merle told me. If they hadn’t come after me, they would have come after one of y’all. I’m stayin’, Cap’n. I’ll stay on the couch if I have to. But y’all ain’t gettin’ rid of me.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes searching her face, before a sigh escapes. His ears droop. “Someone has to take June back home.”

At that, Ren laughs. She tightens the blanket around her shoulders, shaking her head. “You can tell her that, then. She’s a stubborn thing, Cap’n. I don’t wanna be on the wrong side of that little thing’s anger.” She has been before. Never again. “That’s for you.”

* * *

 Davenport’s hand resting gently in his own, Merle takes the time to sign his name in the gnome’s palm. It’s a language from their home plane, a language not even time and altered memories could erase. Davenport had taught most of them the original form of the language, though over the century, it had become something different; something that only they could understand. A language not spoken, but a language heard during sleepless nights, silent missions; a language they knew and loved. Curled fingers, calloused skin, _M, E, R, L, E_ written into delicate paw pads. _You are safe. We’re almost there, Dav. Almost there. F, A, M, I, L, Y. Safe._

Despite the dwarf’s best efforts, Davenport can’t seem to tear his eyes from the necklace held carefully between two fingers. A chain of white gold, they realize now, not silver. Simple and clean, with a circle of black opal resting in the center. Colors cut through the dark stone, a glimmering galaxy amongst the darkness. Small fingers curl around the stone, pulling it close to his chest, and the Captain closes his eyes.

“Hey,” Merle’s fingers wrap around his, prying his hand away, opening the clenched fist. He takes the necklace from Davenport. Soft hazel eyes turn from the gem to Davenport’s face, as if searching for something that isn’t there anymore. Searching for his Captain, his friend, his— “Hey, I don’t think that’s— Let’s not do that right now, Dav. Don’t worry about that right now. We’re doin’ good. We got Taako back. There’s no need to jump from the cauldron into the fire.”

“You saw Taako.” Try as he might, Davenport can’t keep his voice from trembling. His fingers wrap around the chain, but he does not pull the jewel free from Merle’s grip. “This is exactly what we need to be worrying about. I don’t know—”

“I know.” The chain is once more pulled from Davenport and placed aside. Slowly, gently, Merle pulls his Captain from his spot on the hammock, leaning back, until they’re laying side by side. With one arm wrapped around his shoulders, Merle continues, “I know, Dav. But you ain’t helpin’ anyone by worryin’ yourself sick. You gotta take time to breathe and think about how far we’ve come, instead of where we still got to go. Ya know what I’m sayin’?”

“Merle—”

“You’ve done so much good, Dav. You’ve gotten us so far.” Gentle fingers move through trussed red hair, careful to tuck loose strands behind the gnome’s ears. “And you started this all on your own. You did it by yourself. You don’t need me to tell ya that. I mean, shit, you took a group of seven nerds and turned us into a capable crew and a family. And even when we were lost and scared, you found us.”

Merle leans over, to press a kiss to Davenport’s forehead. The Captain grumbles a complaint, but he only laughs, tightening his grip on the other.

“You’ll get us through this, Captain. I have complete faith in you.”

* * *

 “Magnus, may I speak with you?”

The Fighter looks up from where he’s sitting, his latest project sitting in his lap. His carving knife is in one hand, a pile of shaving littering the floor around him. Furrowed brows soften at the sight of the goddess, and Magnus bows his head. Istus smiles in return, lifting the edges of her skirts. A few quick steps is all it takes to cross the distance between them, and soon the goddess sits next to her dearest emissary.

“How can I help you, Lady Fate?”

Silver eyes shift from Magnus to his hands. The corners of her mouth twitch upwards, and she extends a hand, resting her fingers against the unfinished wood. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, uh.” He places the knife aside, just in case, and lifts the half-carved staff so she can get a better look. “Cap’n mentioned that it was— That, y’know, Lucy’s— Lucretia’s— staff was shattered when he searched her office, and I just thought… I mean, y’know, she has bad knees, and the staff’s been with her for over a decade now. I thought she would… She would need something new. It’s not the same as the Bulwark Staff, but hopefully she’ll like it.”

“She’ll love it.” Istus’ voice is soft as her hands return to her lap. “I’m sure of that.”

Magnus returns the smile with one of his own, placing the staff to his side. It isn’t his best work, but it has every bit of his heart and soul within. He had taught Lucretia everything she needed to make the Bulwark Staff in the first place, and now he had a chance to give her another in its place. Time to get rid of the old, a nagging voice murmurs in the back of his head, and embrace the new.

“What can I help you with, Lady Fate?” he asks again.

Istus’ smile falls briefly. Her hands grip at the crumples edges of her skirts; usually so pristine, they look as though she’s been fumbling with them for a while now. It does nothing to ease his nerves, especially when she turns to look at her hands, as if they and her skirt are the most interesting things at the moment.

“My Lady?”

“How are you holding up?”

Magnus pulls back, stunned. For a moment, he’s quiet, desperately searching her face, trying to find what was behind the question. She is a goddess, the Lady of Fate. Surely she already knows the answer to her question. If not through her powers, then surely through just deduction. But when he can find nothing hidden in her gaze, the Fighter takes a deep breath. Easier to get it over with now rather than later. “I’m… I am doing as well as can be expected, my Lady. They’re back. Almost all of them are back, and we’re…”

There are no words to describe the feeling of being back in the Starblaster. It’s not the same as Raven’s Roost; it’s not the same as the moon base, or even their two-sunned home. Raven’s Roost is where he learned to love. The moon base is where he found a purpose after his wife’s murder. The Starblaster… The Starblaster is where he learned to _live_ , where he found his family. It is where he truly grew up, from a shithead kid to a man worthy of the IPRE badge. There’s safety aboard; a feeling of warmth and light that seems to burst from every open door and every familiar fixture. Most of his family has returned and, while they’re not out of the woods yet, they’re _home_. He’s home. Who could ask for more than that?

“I don’t know,” he finally murmurs, glancing down briefly at the staff. Something heavy tugs on his heart. The ghost scent of jasmine and falling rain comes and goes, and for a brief second, he forgets how alone he is. “We’re so close, but I— Why do I have the feeling the worst is yet to come, Lady Fate? We’ve come so far, but we still have so much farther to go.”

She rests a gentle hand against his leg, gaze softening. “What is to come is nothing compared to what you have endured, Magnus. You and your family have… You have suffered greatly, I will not lie, but you have become stronger and closer for all your trials. I cannot tell you what approaches; I cannot see it. But I do know that the depths of the Hunger is nothing compared to the love you hold for each other. It will be enough.” Her fingers curl slightly, catching in the rough fabric of his pants. “It has to be.”

Istus pulls her hand free, but Magnus is quicker. He takes her hand in both of his, scarred fingers against smooth. Now is not the time for doubt, he wants to say; now is the time to revel in what they’ve found, celebrate all that has been returned to them. But not even his unending optimism can force the words free from the tip of his tongue. The weight of what is to come rests too heavily on his shoulders; the sight of his Captain, withdrawn and sullen, Lup and Barry clinging too tightly to each other, Merle trying his best to support them all while ignoring his own needs… By the gods, he has to stay strong for them, remain optimistic, but he’s so tired.

“Oh, my Protector.”

The goddess wraps an arm around his shoulders, tugging him close, and presses a kiss to his forehead. He sags into her touch. His eyes close. By the gods, when did he become so desperate for touch? When did he become so _touch-starved?_ Her hand lifts, to rest in his hair, and Magnus’ shoulders tremble.

“You can overcome anything,” Istus says, and a rough, undignified noise comes from deep within his chest. “You know that, don’t you? Your seven are truly _amazing_. Perhaps I am not your Istus, but—”

“You are.” It comes out rough, wet with the tears he cannot shed. “You are, my Lady. I was never… I was never the sort to mingle with gods, and yet you have…” He pauses, to glance up at her. Tears blur his vision. “What do we have to do next? What _can_ we do? Taako was in the Underdark. Without Lup, we couldn’t have found him. Lucretia, she’s— What if we can’t _find her_?”

Istus tightens her grip on him and murmurs, “I will do what I can.”

* * *

 “We’ll get through this. He’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay, baby. You know that.” His face buried in Lup’s hair, Barry holds his wife and refuses to let her go. Her scent fills his nose; cinnamon and smoke and _warmth_. She’s back. After a decade apart, two weeks feels like nothing, and yet he felt every single second of it. But that doesn’t matter; it doesn’t matter anymore, he tells himself. Lup is here, and now she has her brother. That’s what he has to focus on, even as Lup sobs in his arms. They’re back, they’re safe, they’re going to be okay. “It would take a lot more than the Hunger to knock him down.”

“Look at him.”

He hasn’t _stopped_ looking, though he can’t bring himself to tell Lup that. The darkness around Taako’s shoulders has barely faded. The color beneath his open tunic still shimmers, though it, too, isn’t as bright as it was before. His chest barely rises and falls with hollow breaths, but it is rising. _He is breathing_. He’s taken the water they’ve dribbled through his lips. He reacts to touch, to whispered words. Even if Taako cannot wake, he is still in there. There’s hope in that. All they have right now is hope, and they will cling to it with all they have.

“This battle is his, my heart’s flame,” Barry murmurs, and laughs as Lup swats his arm. “If there is one word that describes Taako, it’s _stubborn_. He’ll get through this.”

“We Taaco Twins don’t go down without a fight.” Her voice is wet, thick with tears, but there’s something _more_ behind her words now. More hope, more resilience. Lup finally tears her gaze away from her brother to look at her lover, at her husband. Something in Barry’s chest warms. “He won’t.”

“He never does.”

Her hands come up, to find his face, and for a moment the two simply look at each other as the world around them falls away. Taako will be fine. It won’t be an easy battle, but he’ll make it through. They all will. And besides, they have each other. They will _always_ have each other. Lup leans forward, and Barry meets her halfway. Their lips find each other. Arms entangle, hearts beat in time. They will be all right.

“I love you.”

* * *

With Merle asleep in his hammock, Davenport takes the pendant and steals from the room. Quick footsteps click down the hallway as his tail flicks behind him. Ears pinned, eyes trained ahead, but not even the determination of a Captain can break the routine of old.

One stop at the closest room to his, Davenport almost pauses to open Merle’s door, only to remember his location and continue downward. Barry’s is next. A hand on the knob, Davenport lifts an ear, holding his breath for a moment. When he hears nothing, he opens the door to briefly peak inside. No one. Ears lift briefly, only to pin back, and the gnome continues downward. No need to panic. No need to freak out. He’s probably with Lup in Taako’s room. The twins are farther down; he’ll check them last, before he finally reaches his destination.

Lucretia’s is next. Out of habit, Davenport turns to the door, only to stop inches from the doorknob. Trembling fingers hover briefly in the air before pulling back, returning down by his side. No point, he tries to tell himself. There’s no point. Keep moving forward, Captain. Move across the hall, lift your ear. Hold your breath. Barry’s gentle words coming from within; check. Lup’s sobs, now quieted to hiccups; check. He doesn’t have to peek inside to know Taako is still there, still asleep. But alive, he notes, as a broken cough breaks the monotony within. That’s enough for him.

That done, Davenport turns back around and quickens his pace. Breathing coming from within, but not even, not steady. Magnus is awake. The Captain takes a deep breath, takes a steep away to tend to himself. Jacket straightened, hair finger-combed back into place. It’s been a rough few months for all of them, but it’s almost over. Keep yourself together, Captain. They need you now more than ever.

Hand lifting, he knocks once, twice, three times.

There’s shuffling from within, a soft curse from the Fighter. Footsteps, heavy and quick, approach the door a few seconds before it opens. Light from behind Magnus bathes the two, and it’s suddenly obvious to Davenport just how little sleep he’s had the past week. Between finding Lup and Taako, standing by at Taako’s bedside, worrying about his sister… Gods, the bags beneath his eyes look more like bruises; his beard is unkempt, his clothes mussed, and— is that blood?

“What happened?”

Magnus’ eyes fall to the cut on his palm, and for a moment, he looks just as confused as Davenport sounds. But then a smile curves his lips, empty and sad. “Did you come by because you smelled blood, Cap’n?”

Lips pressing into a fine line, Davenport meets the other’s gaze. “You’re avoiding the question, Magnus. What happened?”

“It’s nothing.” With his other hand, Magnus reaches into his pocket, searching, before removing a crumpled, silver handkerchief. Where in the world did he get that? The Fighter dabs at the blood, once more unable to meet his Captain’s eyes. “I was just working, and you startled me. Nothing but a knick from a whittling knife. I’ve had worse.”

Davenport frowns, but nods once. “Do you mind if I come in for a moment?”

“You should be asleep.”

“So should you.”

Magnus’ lips press together briefly as he nods once, then moves aside. “Okay. All right, you got me there, Cap’n. Come on in. We should both be asleep, but, hey. What can I help you with?”

Davenport steps inside, letting the door close behind him, and turns his gaze onto the Fighter’s room. They had each spent their time here before, but, just like everything else in their lives, it’s different now. It’s clean for once, he notes, aside from a pile of shavings swept haphazardly beneath his bed. A half-finished staff lays to the side of the mattress, with the whittling knife on his bedside table. At least Magnus was telling the truth about that. The Captain’s ears swivel back and press against his skull.

“What can I help you with, Captain?”

“You three were part of the Crystal Kingdom mission,” he murmurs. Deft fingers fish into his pocket for a moment before removing the pendant. Holding it out, Davenport continues, “And you’ve recently spoken with Lucretia. We both have. What does that look like to you?”

Gentle fingers take the necklace, turning the black opal over several times. Emotions flash through the boy’s eyes; confusion, recognition, horror as it slowly morphs into panic. And when Magnus turns his gaze back to Davenport, the Captain can only nod. His mustache twitches, the corners of his mouth tugging downwards. There’s no mistaken what they have.

Magnus leans backwards, knees bending, and falls to a seated position on the floor. One arm rests atop a knee, the pendant swinging from the momentum. For a moment, he can only stare at the reflecting colors. Searching, trying to find something that clicks. In the end, he only shakes his head. “It’s not the same one Taako stole. Or, well, Lucas gave him. It’s— Lucas said they had to be natural circles. This one’s been cut and polished.”

“It’s not a disk,” confirms the Captain. Moving to Magnus’ side, he flops beside him, closing his eyes. Leaning his head back, Davenport continues, “It’s, it’s not a way to see into a plane that doesn’t exist anymore. But I don’t— I don’t think that is what it’s supposed to be. I just can’t… _figure out_ what else they would need it for.”

“Symbolism?”

“What?”

“Symbolism,” repeats the Fighter. When Davenport opens his eyes, looks at him, Magnus shifts nervously. One shoulder lifts and falls in a half-shrug. When did he become so unconfident, Davenport wonders. What happened to his chief of security? “Everyone else knows about the Crystal Kingdom now, but— only a handful of us would _really understand_ the importance of these disks. I mean, that can’t be all it is, but… seems like a bit of a slap in the face to me.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s definitely a possibility; the monster that showed itself in Taako’s vision also had one around its neck. Ren’s nightmare, too. The three he had killed before, months ago when this horror all started, hadn’t, but there could be a number of factors there. Keeping themselves hidden, keeping their motivations secret— even the fact that those sent to steal him away had been on nothing more than a suicide mission. Why waste resources on those that would fall? So many options, and not nearly enough time to go through them all.

One hand lifts, to rub across Davenport’s face, and the gnome sighs.

“Can I borrow it?”

An eyebrow arches. Magnus clears his throat.

“Maybe it’s magically infused with some… I don’t know, some magical bullshit.” Magnus reaches over, gently pulling the gem from Davenport’s fingers. His lips press together in a tight, fine line. “I don’t— I’m not magically inclined, but maybe someone else could help with that. Istus and the Raven Queen could take a look at it. Or, uh— Maybe Barry and Lup, or Kravitz. Maybe there’s something more within it. Maybe one of them can figure it out.”

“Merle couldn’t find anything.”

“Did you even ask him, Cap’n?”

Davenport elbows him gently, earning a laugh from from the boy. One arm wraps around the Captain, tugging him closer, and Davenport leans over. Chin resting atop his Captain’s, Magnus closes his eyes. They don’t say anything, not right then, not in the moment. There’s so much going on around them, so much they weren’t ready for. But they’ve come this far. And little by little, Davenport relaxes, once more closing his eyes as he leans against his chief of security. They’re almost there, he tells himself; they can do this. They’d defeated the Hunger once before. They can do it again.

They just have to stick together.

* * *

Ash and dust float around him. Smoke lingers in the air, filling his mouth, coating his tongue. Despite the evidence of fire, the world around him is cold, cold, cold. He can taste it in the air, feel it strike his lungs with every breath. His fingertips twitch in protest. His right arm pulses, warmth blooming from his palm; Pan’s gentle touch, even in the midst of the sterile-silver world surrounding him.

He’s only just gotten his bearings when the world shifts suddenly. His mind is pulled too far to the right, and Merle feels his stomach churn. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a while, being pulled apart and stitched back together. It’s something he thought he would never feel again. One hand reaches out, groping for something to steady himself on. To his relief, he finds stability; a quick glance over reveals a sturdy white desk, littered with papers. The Bureau’s symbol flares out from atop the paperwork, engraved in a familiar silver bracer.

“Lucretia?”

If she can hear him, she gives no indication. Her back is hunched, bent over the paperwork strewn before her. Bags line the underside of her eyes; her lips are moving, forming silent words. She’s concentrating, conversing with someone he cannot see. Wherever he is, his vision is restricted to only her. Dimly, he can hear murmured voices, the happy panting of a dog near Lucretia’s ankles, but he cannot see them. All he sees is Lucretia. Her hand moving quickly, scribbling, doodling. She lifts her head, mouth opening, lips forming a snarl. One ear flicks, silver jewelry tinkling with movement, and then suddenly she stiffens.

He calls her name, but his words are silenced. Once more, Merle hears muffled growling, a whine. And then silence once more.

Lucretia’s head snaps to the side, and for a moment, he swears her eyes find his. Green irises blur with tears. Blood blossoms along her temple. Despite his body and mind _screaming_ for him to do something, to act, to save his daughter, he can only watch in horror as she is thrown from her chair. Lucretia rolls, limbs tangling in her robes, and comes to a crashing stop against the wall. Her arms tremble as she struggles to push herself up off her stomach, but she’s so small. She’s so frail; he can see that now. Her head jerks forward, eyes rolling back.

Her body goes limp.

Merle watches as chains appear around her form, curling tightly. A lock appears from summoned smoke as unseen hands lift her too-light body from the ground. Lucretia’s head rolls back. Blood drips from a cut on her face. There’s a flash of red in the corner of his vision, and Merle turns to face it. Her IPRE robe, as bright as the day they’d first escaped the Hunger, tossed aside as if it means nothing. It’s too much for him.

Heat explodes from within his core as his heart pounds, as Dwarven curses burst forth. He is not an angry man. In fact, he’s their Peacemaker. He spent _decades_ trying to reason with John Hunger, to find goodness in his heart. But even a good man has his limits. Even the kindest heart knows when it harden. Tossing aside his easy-going ways, Merle runs forward; to save her, to rescue her, to bring her home, but no matter his rage and determination, it simply isn’t to be.

Once more, he is pulled, this time too sharply to the left. His body lurches, and he feels the hammock throw him forward. Despite his best effort, he cannot get his feet steady beneath him; he can’t catch himself. The dwarf hits his knees, hands braced against the floor, and his shoulders rise and fall with ragged breaths. A snarl bursts forth. He slams his fists into the worn tile of Davenport’s room.

“Oh, Merle, this is all my fault.”

His head snaps up, and there she is.

She’s always been dark-skinned, but this is different. No longer is her skin a healthy, warm color; now she seems to be pitch black, with streaks of glimmering colors the only reprieve to the darkness. Her eyes have faded, from the warm green of her elven heritage to a mottled yellow. His stomach churns as memories come back; John sitting across from him, playing Chess, serving tea, half-laughing at his jokes. John as he finally understands, offering them all a chance to defeat the monster he’s become. John, eyes wide, tears rolling down his face, as the Hunger drags him back into their folds and devours the man he used to be once and for all.

“I didn’t want to live.” She kneels beside him, offering out a hand, pulling him to his feet. Her lips curve into a smile, but it’s hollow, empty. Her hands grasp his, and he realizes just how _cold_ her skin is. She’s not the same Lucretia he once knew. “Perhaps I still don’t. But… When they attacked, I didn’t care if they killed me or not. What is there to live for anymore?”

“ _Lucy_.”

“I didn’t know.” It’s perhaps the hundredth time she’s said it, but this time it’s different. This time it isn’t about her decision, or the decade they spent apart. This time it isn’t about her own mistakes, but the attack she had survived. “I didn’t know what they would do to you. I thought this was revenge for the Hunger, for the Relics, for the Bureau’s untouchability. I thought— Oh, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s done.”

“Not yet,” he says, and is surprised by the snarl rumbling in his chest. Pan’s warmth spreads through his body, but so does his own righteous fury. They are _supposed_ to be joyous, content. This is their happy ending, the one they fought and bled and sacrificed so much for. And now what? He shakes his head, looking up at her. “It’s not over yet, Lucretia. This isn’t the end.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “No. No, I suppose it isn’t.”

Something in her tone makes his blood run cold, his stomach twist. Is this real, he wonders faintly, or is it another nightmare? Davenport had been suffering from them lately, as had Magnus and Lup and Barry. Were they nightmares, or a warning of the battle to come? Could they be both?

“What do you mean by that?”

His tongue feels so heavy in his mouth. For once, Merle is afraid of the coming answer.

“Do not let me hurt them again. Magnus wouldn’t do it; he would still hold out hope. Davenport couldn’t strike down his own family if he wanted to. Lup— I don’t think she could, either.”

His heart beats fast within his breast. His head swims.

“None of us would. None of us _will,_ Lucretia.”

“You will.” She says it with such confidence. Merle has to place a hand on his stomach, to try to force himself to breathe. Her gaze lifts to the stars above them. “If it comes down to it, you will. I know you, Merle. You have protected me from before our mission even started. You took Parlay for us. You alone were able to find love in a man who no longer knew where his own heart beat. You will do what you must, when the time comes.”

She turns her yellowed gaze onto him. The corners of her eyes crinkle.

“And it is coming, Merle.”

There’s finality in her words. The weight of years and years of mistakes have her shoulders slumping, tears of color streaking her face. When she smiles, there is no light. And in that moment, she reminds him so much of a man he once knew. Of a man who saw joy and love and friendship as fleeting, as temporary, as useless. Of a man who lived in such despair that it festered within him, threatening the entire universe. But that man is _dead_ , and she… she is very much alive. She is very much here, now. And despite the hopelessness of the situation, something stirs within him. She is solemn and frail and lost, and he… By the gods above, he is _Merle Highchurch_. Emissary of Pan, Father of Mavis and Mookie, High Cleric. _Their Peacemaker._

“Then let it!” He turns to Lucretia, arms outstretched. A laugh bubbles forth. Her eyes widen, head tilting, and Merle shakes his head. “We have faced the Apocalypse before, Lucretia. We’ve looked death in the eye and fuckin’ told it to _come at us, bro_. We have lived and died and won and lost, but at the end of the day, dammit, we’ve found joy. We’ve found hope and love and a family, and from those, a reason to live. If you think I’m going to sit here and let you be consumed like he was, then you’ve got another thing comin’, Luce. ‘Cause at the end of the day, we’re family. You’re one of _mine_. And I ain’t losin’ you like I lost him. I ain’t losin’ anyone, anymore.”

Her lips twitch once more. She kneels before him.

“I love you, Merle.” Bringing his hand to her lips, Lucretia presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Take care of Taako for me. He’s in your care now.”

And he wakes with a gasp.

* * *

Three quick knocks stir the liches from their sleep. Lazily entangled in each other’s arms, they only have a moment to right themselves, adjusting hair and robes, before Kravitz opens the door. Down by his side stands Angus, dressed in his finest sleep clothes. It’s enough to earn a smile from Lup, a half-nod from Barry.

“Here to relieve us?”

Kravitz nods. Angus moves forward, towards them, and Lup sides from her old bed. The two don’t say anything; they don’t have to. She simply brings the boy into her arms, running her fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Has anything changed, Aunt Lup?”

“Not much, babe.” She pulls away, to brush some strands of hair from his face. Her smile is gentle, kind, as she presses another kiss to his forehead. “But what has changed has been for the better. He’s a stubborn jackass, that one.”

“Language!” Angus teases, and sticks his tongue out. Lup returns the gesture. “Kravitz said I could stay in here tonight, while he watches over.”

Barry and Lup exchange glances, and then turn to the Reaper. He’s long since abandoned his skeleton visage, choosing to remain as elven as possible while around the birds. Even still, his robe flutters faintly around his ankles, ears lifting and twitching every few moments. He appears every bit on guard now as he did in the Underdark, and that is worrying.

Barry clears his throat. “Is that a good idea?”

“Nothing will happen to him,” Kravitz assures. His scythe is placed beside the doorframe, a hand offered out, and soon Angus is back by his side. Subtly, the corners of his lips curve. “We’ve checked and double-checked the ship.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” He glances briefly over his shoulder, at where Taako sleeps, and Kravitz clicks his tongue. “I see.”

Angus shakes his head, pulling from Kravitz’ side, moving across to where Lup and Barry were previously sleeping. His little form bounces once, twice, on the mattress. The smile never leaves his face. “I’ll be fine, sirs, I promise! I want to help, too.”

“And I’m sure you will.” Barry wraps an arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him in for a quick hug, before he, too, stands. “We’ll— we’ll leave you to that, then. Take care of him, Kravitz.”

The Reaper is already pulling over a desk chair, taking a position beside Taako’s bed. His hand rests gently atop his lover’s. A small, sad smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I always do.”

Moving to his wife’s side, Barry nods, unable to speak another word. Sleepiness is hitting him again, and hitting him hard. Reapers don’t need to sleep, technically, but the act of sleeping was something he had grown used to over his entire life. It isn’t something you can just be rid of. And eight hours of uninterrupted contact with his beautiful wife? Absolute bliss. But the past few months had taken that from him, and every night he’s spent without his wife by his side was a night he spent growing more and more exhausted. It will do them both well to finally sleep in the same bed once again.

“Take care of them both,” Lup murmurs, and the pair slips out the door.

They remain alone, quiet for a moment, before Angus hops off the bed. Bare feet patter against the floor until he reaches his adopted father’s side. Another moment of silence, then another, until finally a hiccuped sob bursts forth. Kravitz pulls the boy into his arms, one head resting against the back of Angus’ head. Cradling him close, holding him so delicately. Too much, he realizes; this is too much for a child, even one who had endured all Angus had. Shit.

“Hey, now, Agnes.” An ashen hand reaches up, to gently run through Angus’ hair. “What’s with all the waterworks?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! If you're enjoying this fic, feel free to follow me over on tumblr at aballercookie!


	16. Don't Turn Away

“He’s awake.”

“That would explain Lup’s hurried footsteps just a few minutes ago.” Contrary to his usual tone, Merle’s words are soft, quiet. One hand lifts, to rub across his face, as a quiet sigh escapes. “I’ll go... I’ll go check on him in a bit. I need a moment or two.”

That’s enough to make his mustache twitch, and soon Davenport has crossed the space between them. He kneels before the other. One hand reaches out, to brush across the dwarf’s face, but Merle is quicker. He catches Davenport’s hand in his own. Fingers intertwine, and he brings the other’s up for a quick, chaste kiss across the knuckles. It’s tender, and enough to catch Davenport by surprise. His ears flick. The tips turn a bright red.

“Red always suited you,” Merle chuckles, earning himself a swat across the chest. 

It’s not enough to distract Davenport, who frowns. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“It’s a long story.” The dwarf shifts, to sit fully on his bottom, and uncurls his hand from near his stomach. There, sitting in his palm, rests the opal necklace. Dread tugs at the center of Davenport’s stomach. “But if you’ve got a minute, I can tell it. Can’t guarantee it’ll do either of us any good.”

Davenport shifts, to settle beside Merle, and rests his shoulder against the other’s. Amber eyes close. A deep breath escapes, and the Captain murmurs, “I’ve always got time for you, even if you are an  _idiot_.”

* * *

Taako doesn’t remember much of the months within the prison.

He remembers his family, and the horrible vision that follows. Kravitz tells him of the time between then and now, but, no matter how many times he is told, it doesn’t feel right. It feels no longer and no shorter than the time it takes for a slip of the wrist, a mixup of ingredients. His family crying, his brothers and sisters choking. Dying, all because he was too self-confident, he believed himself infallible, he—

He’s exhausted, and then suddenly  _Lup_.

She throws open the door with such force, he believes it about to come off the hinges. Taako doesn’t protest; he doesn’t have to. There’s no time for words, and there’s no need for something as time-consuming as talking. Instead, his sister crosses the room in two long strides and throws herself into his arms. Taako wheezes beneath her, one hand coming up, to rest in her hair. His head spins at the sudden contact, memories climbing forth as her voice reaches his ears. His sister, writhing before his very eyes. Angus, on all fours, choking, gasping, wheezing. Magnus and Barry and the Captain and Merle and— 

He tightens his grip. Lup responds in kind, sobbing into his shoulder. All thoughts of horror and death are chased away in that moment. He’s home. 

“It's all right,” murmurs Taako. He tries to ignore the darkened palms, the graying of his fingers; that would be for a different time, a different place. Gnawing thoughts of despair and lost tinge at the back of his mind, but they are for later. For now, he has his sister back, his family back. He's back. That's all that matters. The Hunger can wait. “It's all right, babe. I'm back. I'm here.”

Others need him. The Captain and Magnus and Barry— they will be owed there due, but for now, in this moment, he has Lup. A decade apart could never steal what they had, and neither could two months in a prison of his mind's own design. 

“I’m gunna kick your ass,” she murmurs, and presses her face into her brother’s hair. He can only laugh in response, closing his eyes. Cinnamon and warmth fill his nose, a familiar smell; comforting, even during the days on their two-sunned planet, when it was just the two of them. Cold nights and empty bellies could never dampen what they had. Not then, not now. “You hear me? World’s Greatest Wizard, my ass. You let a bunch of idiot—!”

“I know.” It’s whispered in her hair, and he has to fight to keep from sobbing. She trembles against him. Taako knows she’s doing the same. He pulls back from her. As much as it hurts, he pulls away, lets his hands rest gently on her face. Careful thumbs brush away tears and running mascara. Silly thing hadn’t even thought to magically fix that, and the thought alone is enough to make him smile. “I know, babe. But it’s okay. We’re back now. You an’ me, Taako and Lup? We’re back together, an’ that’s all that matters.”

“Fuck yeah it is.”

* * *

“So what did she say?”

It’s hard to think about it, now. In the moment, there was no thinking; there was no debating what he had to say, what he had to do. He had to save her, had to promise that they would find her. John had been lost to his dispair and his self-hatred. No matter what it cost, he couldn’t lose Lucretia in the same way. She’s his daughter, his little journal keeper. She carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, and for what? For them to be happy.

_“Don’t let me hurt them again.”_

Merle reaches up, to rub a hand across his face, and takes a deep breath. 

_“You will do what you must, when the time comes.”_

He turns his gaze towards Davenport. The tip of his tongue flicks out, to wet his lips, but still no words come. What can he say that will make it all better? What can he say that will give his Captain hope again? 

_“I love you, Merle.”_

“A lot,” he says, and feels the weight of it on his chest. 

Davenport rests a hand on the dwarf’s leg, squeezing gently. Merle’s heart aches. 

“From the beginning, then.”

* * *

“There you are!”

Taako nearly ugly-laughs as Magnus crosses the short distance between them and just lifts him from the bed. Kravitz bites back a protest; Angus giggles behind his hand. But Taako can only laugh, wrapping his arms tight around the Fighter’s shoulders. The sharp smell of wood stain is undercut by lavender, the cleanliness of soap, and the elf relaxes against the other. A big man with a big heart, Magnus Burnsides. It’s hard not to feel at ease around him, Taako thinks as he’s placed back onto his bed, and that’s what he needs. That’s what all of them need.

“Nice to see you, too, ya big lug.” Lithe fingers slap gently across the other’s chest, and Magnus is quick to catch them in his own. “I was wonderin’ when you’d come trompin’ by.”

Magnus kneels before him, hand still clutched between his two bigger ones, and beams. Warm and bright and genuine, and Taako feels more of the cold in his chest dissipate. If this keeps up, he’ll be rid of the Hunger’s influence in no time. 

But like a punch to the gut, the thought of the Hunger is enough to bring it all back. Cold, gnawing at his chest. His family, choking, gagging, dying. Lifeless eyes, staring up at him, blaming him. Glamour Springs, all over again. Just when he’d gained the confidence to cook for them. Just when he’d felt comfortable enough to serve pancakes to Lup and Barry, a five-course meal to Magnus. Merle and Davenport over for dinner at least twice a month. Laughter over the dinner table twisting into gasps and sobs as he slumps forward. Their blood on his hands. Their lives, his family, his—

“Hey. Taako, hey.” Magnus’ big hands cupping his face, pulling him from his own thoughts. “Focus on me, Taaks. Focus on me. You’re safe. You’re here, and you’re safe.” 

Magnus’ face is nearly in his own, eyes taking up half his vision. They’re easy to focus on. Dark eyes, warm and brown and gentle. He’s never seen those eyes turn hard or cold, not to him. He’s never seem them waiver, even in the face of the Hunger itself. They’re stable and friendly, and they pull him from beneath the dark waters. A sob bursts forth, his head falls forwards, and suddenly their foreheads touch. Wood and lavender and dust mingle in his nose. It’s enough to bring him home, though they can’t chase away the ghosts of yesterday. Not alone.

One hand lifts, to rest atop Magnus’. A smaller hand touches his leg, and Taako uses his other to cover Angus’. Focus on them, he tells himself. Focus on them and keep yourself steady. 

“You all right, sir?”

“Doin’ good, Ango.”

The little boy scrunches his face. “Don’t lie to me, sir.”

Taako shrugs, forcing himself to sit up. “That’s just what adults—”

“Hey!” Magnus interjects quickly, turning his attention to the boy. He gives Taako a quick, sympathetic look, and then offers out a hand. Angus takes it without question. “Why don’t we go get something to eat, huh? We’ll grab something for Taaks, too? Leave these adults to their gross adult stuff. You and June an’ me can go take Captain for a walk after we bring him back a snack, yeah? What do you say?”

Angus takes a moment to look at Taako. For a moment, the elf swears the kid can see right through him, and maybe he can. Maybe that’s why he nods ad smiles up at Magnus, instead of pushing the issue. This shit hadn’t been easy on any of them. Still, Taako would be lying if he didn’t feel the tension leave almost as soon as Magnus and Angus do, shoulders slumping in relief. The bed dips beside him. Kravitz wraps an arm around his lover’s shoulders, tugging him closer, pulling him into his lap. Head against his chest, Taako smiles.

* * *

“Dav, listen to me!”

“No. No, you, you, you listen to me!” Inwardly, Davenport curses his stutter, curses his emotions for pulling it back out once again. After over a century of commanding this crew and pulling them all back together, one would think he could force himself through a simple sentence without stuttering. It isn’t meant to be. “You listen to me, Merle. I get it. _I get it_. I understand it, but if something— if it comes down to her or the family, I—”

Shaking his head, Merle steps forward, to take the black opal from Davenport. “No. No, she is part of the family! She’s _still in there_.” He shoves the necklace into his pocket. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “I’m not going to let you hurt her. I’m not going to let anyone hurt her. Not while there’s still hope for her.” 

“If she’s gone—”

“She isn’t!” For the first time in a long time, the dwarf’s voice raises above a gentle tone. Hazel eyes shift from his Captain’s face to the wall. Shoulders rise and fall as he struggles to maintain his composure, to keep himself calm, even in the broken gaze of his captain. “Look Magnus in the eye and give him that option. Go ask  _Lup_ , or even Taako! They may have their differences, Dav, but they would— they would  _never_.” His voice breaks, throat squeezing as he adds, “And neither should you.”

Davenport falters, briefly, but Merle knows. They both know. He hasn’t won this argument, merely delayed his Captain’s response. And so the dwarf continues, taking a deep breath. “She is  _one of ours_ , Dav. You started this whole adventure with the purpose of getting us back. _All of us_. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare try to say you’d— I’ll find her myself, if I have to. I’ll take Magnus and Lup, and we’ll go out on our own.”

“Don’t.” His voice nearly breaks, and Davenport curses himself once more. “Don’t. You saw what happened to Ren. They were able to catch each of you while we were separated. We can’t risk that again.”

He can’t risk it. He can’t go through that again. The uncertainty of their survival, the pain on their faces as he pulled them from their prisons. Only he had been able to save them. If they were taken from him now, now that he’s finally gotten them back, he doesn’t know what he’d do. Davenport sags into his bed, the mattress sinking beneath his weight. One hand comes up, to wipe at his face. 

“Okay. Okay, look, I—” He’s struggling to keep his words even, to measure his breaths. His heart beats faster and faster within his breast. How much more of this can he take? “I’m not saying we have to make a permanent decision now. We can’t. She’s not even back yet. But if we have to—”

“ _No_.”

His heart thuds painfully. “Merle.”

“No. I’m saying no, Dav, and I mean it. There’s a lot of things we’ve done, a lot of shit we ain’t proud of. I know that century did a lot on us. I know...” He hesitates, glancing at the other, as if gauging Davenport’s reaction before continuing, “I know the past decade ain’t been easy. But gods be damned, if there is one thing I believe in, I believe in this family. And I ain’t gunna let nothin’ tear us apart.”

* * *

“Junebug, you ready?”

“Just a moment.” 

Magnus and Angus hesitate, glancing at each other from outside the blanket fortress. Captain sits patiently at the Fighter’s side, her tail thumping happily. There’s no need for a leash or harness aboard the Starblaster, but she still knows something is happening. She knows she’s supposed to get attention. But despite her happy pants and butt wriggles, she still remains by their side. Magnus gives her head a pat, then motions to the floor with two fingers. She hits her tummy with a delighted huff.

“You doin’ okay in there, Junebug?”

Shuffling of papers is the only answer he receives for about fifteen seconds, before finally the teenager sticks her head out of the fort. Magnus’ chest squeezes. Her smile is bright, but there are dark circles beneath her eyes. Her hair, so normally and carefully braided, is frizzled, with strands sticking out here and there. Still, she lifts a hand and motions for the boys to enter.

“I think I figured it out.”

Before Magnus can ask, Angus is already on his knees, crawling within the fort. He’s chittering away, excited, asking questions the Fighter doesn’t quite understand. Questions of magic and twisted phylacteries, of the Hunger and phases of the moons. But instead of leaving things unsaid, he hits his knees and follows Angus inside. 

To his surprise, the fortress is a mess. Angus and June are both neat, tidy little things, but this little hideaway is littered with opened books, notebooks, and more quills than he had ever seen before. June sits in the middle of it all, crosslegged with a journal resting gently between her knees. Her elbows rest on her legs, hands open wide, palms-out. Despite everything, there’s a grin on her face, and, as Angus looks over her shoulder, one blooms across his face, too.

“Okay, so! So, I’ve— I’ve been doin’ some research,” she begins, motioning to the books around her. She didn’t have to. “Been readin’ through her journals, and thinkin’ about what the Cap’n said.  _Look where their story started_. And I thought— I thought maybe that had somethin’ to do with her location, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t!”

“Junebug, are you—”

“No, no,” Angus interrupts, holding up his hand. “Let her finish. I think she’s got a point.”

“It couldn’t have somethin’ to do with her because it had something to do with Lup. Phandalin, right? That’s where y’all started y’alls’ adventure. So I started lookin’ through her other journals.” She motions to a nearby pile, and Angus scurries over. He brings back another opened journal. “There’s nearly _eight years_ of her wanderin’s to look through. But. But! After lookin’ through Year Three, she finds the Bulwark Staff. It was held by a Sorcerer near Mulmaster, who took the city for his own personal gain.”

“Okay...” Magnus shifts, to sit crosslegged across from her. His eyes shift from her face to the journal Angus produced, and then to the one in June’s own lap. It’s not clicking. Then again, he doesn’t know much from her adventures before the Bureau. It’s a time she refuses to talk about, even to him. Especially to him. “Okay, so what does that have to do anything?”

“So I started thinkin’ again. Maybe what she said  _does_ have somethin’ to do with her location. I mean, at the time, she wanted y’all to find Lup. But who’s to say Ms. Lucretia can’t give two clues in one? So I dug a little deeper.” She flips through a few of the pages, pausing on a sketched map. An ink-stained finger rests atop the previously named city. “Ms. Lucretia and Maureen Miller created the moon base to keep everyone safe. And I know it’s a long shot, but... well, look! Mulmaster is located in a peninsula south of  _the Moonsea_.”

His heart pounds in his chest. Magnus can barely hear the girl’s words over the soft rushing of his own thoughts, but still he struggles to push through it. If she’s right... If she’s right, then they’ve found her. They’ll bring her home. He’ll finally have _his sister_ back.

“You don’t think—?”

“The Moonsea is where her adventure began. Phandalin is where your adventure began. It makes sense. It has to.” Her smile falters then, and June glances up at him. She’s a brave little researcher, but she’s still just a girl. She’s still just a teenager, grown up too fast for her own good. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for, kiddo.” Magnus leans over, to press a kiss to June’s forehead. “Let’s go tell the Captain.”


	17. Don't Lose Your Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been far too long, and my writing is rusty. please forgive me.

“You’re mad,” she whispers to no one.

“It won’t work,” she says, even as they turn their back to her.

“They will find me.”

And even if they don’t, Lucretia thinks, this plan cannot succeed. It _won’t_. John became what he was from discovering some sort of horrible truth. His sorrow and loneliness and _anger_ drove him to become the very thing that chased the IPRE across the planerverse. And while she has suffered just as much sorrow and twice as much loneliness, years of the first two has softened her anger. She holds no more ill will to her family now, not like she once had. Not as she had the moment they turned their backs on her and crafted the Relics.

They had all made mistakes. They have all _suffered_ for their follies.

And whereas John struggled to bring everyone and everything into himself, Lucretia had turned her back on those she loved. Neither were healthy. Neither had been productive. But one mistake was fixable, and John… Well, John had been forced to die so that his could be reversed.

The Hunger was born of anger and fear. Lucretia had made her mistakes from a place of love. No Hunger could survive in someone so truly, fully complete.

And as another line of color stretches across her skin, as another gnawing pain tears at her stomach, she clings to that thought. She clings to _hope._

_“They will find me.”_

* * *

 

The meeting doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Merle and Lup are both quick to join Magnus’ side— and, oh, how he hates to call it a _side_ ; they’re a family, not countries in the middle of war— while Davenport and Barry exchange dubious looks. He doesn’t understand. They have a chance to find Lucretia and finally bring their family home. June alone has managed to bring them this clue, when every other avenue has only led to dead ends and heartbreak. It isn’t until Merle steps forward, clearing his throat, that Magnus finally begins to put the pieces together.

“Dav doesn’t want to risk it.”

“No!” Davenport steps, to meet the dwarf halfway. “No, don’t— don’t you put any words into my mouth, Merle. Don’t twist this into something it’s not. We’ve already risked so much to get our family back. This isn’t about _wanting_.”

The corners of Merle’s mouth twitch. “Then what is it, Cap? You afraid she’s behind all of us?”

Merle’s words are enough. Magnus’ gaze shifts from his friend to his captain, and he can only watch as something _shatters_ behind Davenport’s eyes. Something tugs at the boy’s hand. A quick glance downward reveals Lup’s hand slipping into his. They’ll do this alone, if they have to. They’ll find her. They don’t have a choice.

Davenport’s own eyes flick down to their intertwined fingers, and then over to Barry, who looks almost as hopeless as the Captain feels. Emotions stir within his chest. Everything feels too big and too small all at once. He’s already seen his family ripped apart twice now. He’s seen the danger this new threat presents. He can’t lose them. Not again.

“Don’t,” whispers the gnome. His ears press flat against his head. “Don’t you _ever_ suggest such a thing, Merle. Disagreeing on a course of action is not the same as _abandoning_ one of our own.”

“You wanted to kill her, for fuck’s sake!”

Magnus and Lup scream “ _What_ ?” in unison, and Davenport struggles once more to find his voice amongst the growing chaos. The buzzing comes back, nauseating and infuriating all in one. He’s being talked over again. His family, all arguing, looking at each other, looking _for_ each other. They need answers. They need resolutions. And yet all they are doing is talking over him, putting words in his mouth. He is their _Captain_ , for Gods’ sakes. He won’t have anyone make a fool of him once more.

“That is not what I said,” he lifts a hand, fingers trembling, and all eyes return once more to his face. Slowly, deliberately, he rubs across his eyes. _Gather your thoughts, Captain, and say them aloud_. “Lucretia came to you with her concerns. She has gone too far before. If she’s been pulled too far, if she cannot stop herself, then what danger does that present to us? We can’t risk running off on a wild hunch. If we’re caught off guard again, then—”

“Look, babes.” Taako interrupts his Captain and saunters forth, lifting both hands to point at himself. Darkness creeps along the neckline of his shirt, but it’s different now. A gentle gray, as opposed to the black that previously threatened to overtake him. It’s easily overshone by the smile on his lips, and the mischief dancing in his eyes. “It’s Time for Taako’s Opinion. And Taako? He thinks this whole argument is bullshit.”

“Taako—”

“Two seconds, Cap’n’port. Listen, this whole thing? It actively tried to divide us. It, like, _purposely_ imprisoned us far away from each other. And if it tried to do that when only the Captain was awake, then can you imagine how desperate it is to keep us, all of us, away from Luce? It knows we’re close. And it is _shakin’_ in its off-brand boots. Just think about _that_ for a second.”

They do. Davenport watches as each of their faces twist. As Magnus’ look of desperation morphs into horror. As Merle’s eyes harden with determination, and Lup’s nostrils flare. There’s a hint of smoke in the air now, and even Barry has to glance away. The children, silent up to this point, look at each other. June wraps an arm around Angus’ shoulders and murmurs something too soft to be heard. They all know it to be true. And they are all so very scared.

As for Davenport, his ears droop. Dread settles in the pit of the Captain’s stomach as readily as acceptance. They can’t risk separating again. If they are going to do this, they’re going to have to do it together. It’s the only way to save the last piece of their family— and the planer system, once again.

“So I dunno about y’all,” Taako begins again, and this time points to the gathered crew, “but Taako is _beyond tired_ of having this thing fuckin’ up his retirement. So what do you say we turn this shit around and find Lucretia?”

Davenport opens his mouth to speak, but Magnus is quick to step forward, quick to interrupt him. When did these kids get so insubordinate? It’s infuriating.

“And you don’t have to come, Cap’n!” He’s trying so hard. Davenport’s almost touched, even as Magnus begins to point to himself, to Lup, and then to the Starblaster’s helm. “It would be good to have someone watchin’ our backs, in case somethin’ went wrong. That way, at least, someone can contact Krav or Istus, get them to provide aid. Ren and the kids can stay behind, too. We don’t need everyone for this. We can even just scout it out!”

He can only sigh, though the smallest smile curves the corner of his mouth. Shaking his head, Davenport murmurs, “If, for one moment, you think I’m going to let any of you out of my sight…”

* * *

 

The Moonsea is colder now than it’s ever been.

The breeze from the shore is enough to send a chill right through his bones, but still Magnus trudges forth. Snow and ice cuts through his armor. The wind burns his eyes and blurs his vision. Behind him, Taako whispers an incantation, and Lup echoes it. It is the third time they’ve done so, and the warmth that bursts forth is welcomed— albeit short-lived.

It’s Barry who calls through the wind, “Where did June say she would be?”

And it is Davenport who grumbles a, “She didn’t,” in reply.

June, for all her deduction, could not pinpoint the exact location where Lucretia could be. There are areas, bits and pieces of the peninsula that she suspected. Three of those had already been thoroughly searched, with naught a trace of their wayward bard. Only the fourth remains now, and it is quite the climb.

They’ve had to stop their trek nearly twice now, to rest and recuperate. The story only grows heavier the farther they climb the mountain; a bad omen, Lup murmurs. A warning, Magnus counters, and a clue that they’re getting close. But he doesn’t have proof. He can only trust his gut, his heart. And his heart knows she’s not far.

The crest the hill at exactly noon, and Magnus turns to look behind him. Barry holds Lup close to him, and the Fighter isn’t sure if it’s to keep her warm, or if her magic is doing that for him. It’s probably the latter. Taako remains close to Merle and Davenport, a small ball of flame hovering between cupped hands. He can feel the heat from several feet away. Good. At least they’re staying safe. But they’ll have to go back soon, he thinks. They can’t survive out here for much longer. Soon, they’ll have to call the Starblaster to their location and department. It’s not like they have any other cycle after this one.

Once they’re by his side, he turns from them to finally look out at the plateau before them. The wind whistles. The snow burns, blurs. But through the white-out conditions, something glistens. His breath hitches in his throat. Magnus takes a step forward against his better judgement, against Davenport’s hesitant call. It glitters against the sunlight, an ice-blue orb against the white sky. It calls to him. _She_ calls for him.

Once again, Magnus rushes in.

* * *

 

She sees him through the static and the fog.

He’s a sight to behold; Magnus Burnsides, the savior of Faerun, the hero of Refuge, running forward to save his family once more. Despite the cold leeching her strength, despite the color slowly fading from her very body, Lucretia can’t help but smile. He’s so close. He’s always been right there, just a few yards away.

And yet, in that moment, he couldn’t be further from the truth.

His axe has been forgotten. The weapons he uses chooses has been ignored, strapped to his back instead of clutches between trembling fingers, and instead a bare hand reaches out. A helpless prisoner, Lucretia can only watch as his hands press against the outside of her make-believe prison. She cannot warn him. A flash of color cracks along the curve of her throat as the beast clothed in her bluest blue begins to stir.

She screams, helpless and silent, as cracks spread across the ice.

* * *

 

The bubble splinters from the point of contact, lines spreading outward. Magnus reaches forward, pressing both hands against the glass. It’s easy. It’s almost _too easy_ , a part of him realizes. But that doesn’t stop him from holding his breath. That doesn’t stop him from pushing forward, as if daring the bubble to shatter from his touch alone. The cold swirls around him. Something heavy thunks in his chest, and the sound of cracking ice echoes across the mountain.

Then, there’s a blast of cold.

The bubble expands outward, shattering, and another blast hits him square in the chest. It cuts through him, coating his armor in a fine layer of white. His cheek stings. It only takes a quick touch to realize that some of the glass ( _the ice?_ ) has cut him. He doesn’t care. It’s only a scratch. He’s had worse, and he would suffer worse gladly if it meant the end of this. If it meant Lucretia is safe. She will be safe, he tells himself. She’ll be back by his side very soon, and his family will be whole once more.

The shards settle on the ground, tinkling gently against the whistling of the wind. Behind the dissipating wall of white, hovering gently before them all, is his sister. His heart begins to pound within his chest. Dimly, he is aware of Davenport calling for him. He hears Lup call his name. But he doesn’t dare look back. Instead, Magnus starts to take a step forward— only to stop upon finally, truly seeing her.

It’s not Lucretia. Wavy white hair reaches past her shoulder. Her robes are a bright blue, yes, but they were gray they last time they’d spoken. Her skin is dark; too dark. Almost black, he realizes with horror. _It’s not Lucretia_. Those ears are too long, too pointy, for any half-elf’s. Her head lifts, and her eyes are no longer kind and green, but angry and _red_. Those too-large ears pin backwards, and a hand lifts.

A drow.

Within the bubble, a drow rested, and now this drow has her magic aimed directly at the poor boy.

Davenport realizes it just as quickly as Magnus does, but he is faster to react. Blood pounds in his ears. The Captain leaps from his place in line, arms outstretched. Several yards separate him from Magnus, but that is no different leap for a gnome of his standing. His body connect with the boy’s back, hands intertwining around his neck, and the force of the collision is enough to have Magnus stumbling forward. He squawks in surprised, and indignation. It’s silenced as a wave of poisonous green magic sails over his head.

“Thanks, Cap.”

He’s breathless, but scared, but the look in his eyes is enough to assure Davenport that he’s safe. That will have to do.

“Be more careful next time.”

The Captain leaps from Magnus’ back to land beside him, one cutlass drawn. The snow crunches beneath his boots. His fingers dig into it, searching for purchase. Magnus hesitates only a second before nodding, and soon his axe is clutched between both hands. His gaze shifts back to the rest of his crew, his family, and he has to wonder if they know. Can they see through the blinding snow? Magic hums in the air, and Davenport is only able to manage “It was a trap!” before he’s forced to tumble to the side. Another burst of magic explodes forth, aimed directly for where the gnome had once stood. Behind him, Barry squawks in pain.

No more playing around.

Lup remains behind, Barry’s name a chant on her tongue, but Taako rushes forward. His wand is drawn, free hand clutching at his hat against the weather. Bright eyes shift from the hovering drow to his trembling brother, and then finally to the gnome who had brought them all together. To the Captain he trusts.

“So what’s the plan?”

“Survive.”

Like a pack of rats, the three scatter. Magnus and Davenport each take a side as Taako moves to try to flank their newfound enemy. The drow doesn’t seem to notice. Her attention is focused entirely on Magnus, her original target, as her words begin to twist. Undercommon leaves her tongue. Davenport feels heat sweep past him as light begins to form in her palm. But whatever she is planning pauses as the ground beneath her begins to tremble. The light dissipates.

She only has time to glance down before frozen vines shoot from beneath the ice and snow. They wrap around her legs, entangle in the blue of her gown. She screams in frustration. Behind them, Merle _laughs_.

Davenport grins. He leaps forth, cutlass raised. From the opposite side, Magnus joins his Captain. Two attacks are much more difficult to block; they had learned that much over their years of travel. And, to their satisfaction, it works. Davenport’s blow lands without much resistance, and a line of red blooms along her midsection. It is Magnus who has difficulties, and it is Magnus who is blasted square in the chest by a spell; a horrible, terrifying spell that has his body twisting, a scream coming from his lips. His skin begins to gray from the point of contact.

Barry screams, and the wind screams with him.

Or perhaps it’s not the wind.

It sounds almost too familiar.

But there is no time to dwell on that. Barry recognized the spell, which can only mean one thing. _Necromancy,_  Davenport realizes, and rushes forward once more to attack. A frustrated snarl rumbles deep in his chest. No matter what, they cannot allow another spell to leave the drow. They cannot risk the next attack.

He raises his cutlass, leaping from the ground, as a bolt of lightning streaks before him. A crack of thunder echoes across the plateau. Davenport watches, almost in slow motion, as Lup’s attack lands. The drow screams in pain, her body arching with it, and he takes his chance. He takes the pain of Lup’s attack to do what must be done. Damn this drow, he thinks, and damn them all.

The blade slices through the air, through the drow’s chest. The pain is almost too much for him to bear, but he’s always been a gnome of strong constitution. Davenport hangs onto consciousness as momentum carries him towards the ground. And as he falls, one of the frozen vines life, catch him just inches from the ground. He doesn’t have time to ask; doesn’t even have time to think. Merle’s voice is the only warning he receives. The vine tosses him back into the air, and Davenport’s body twists, twirling in midair. He brings his cutlass down for a second attack.

It would have been beautiful, he thinks, a sight to behold. An act of teamwork, of desperation— a gnome dancing amongst the snow and ice and wind, to land what could very well be the final strike. It could have been something they would have laughed about, once upon a time. How silly, how foolish, how utterly _insane_ , mostly because it shouldn’t have worked. It would have been a Starblaster Story. But the century is over; there will be no more coming back. He cannot miss. And so, with all the strength he can muster, Davenport swings once more. Taako’s voice summons forth a spell as, from the other side of the drow, flaming arrows fly forth.

They hit all at once.

The blood and heat nearly overtake him.

There is no vine to catch him now. There is no one nearby, but he will survive. Adrenaline causes his vision to blur just slightly. Dimly, over the sound of crunching snow and shouting children, he can hear the drow scream. It soon is muffled beneath a gurgling moan, before finally she is silent. Davenport’s feet connect with the ground, and he’s sent tumbling, cutlass falling from numb fingers.

He doesn’t fall far.

Gentle hands catch him as footsteps, rapid and frantic, approach. Taako, helping him to his feet. Lup, her hand in Barry’s, kneeling beside him. They look concerned. They look _afraid_. Davenport is briefly aware of Merle hurrying to Magnus’ side, soulwood arm already glowing with Pan’s power, as he turns his attention to the youngest of his crew.

“Everyone all right?”

“We’re fine.” Lup extends a hand, fingers pausing just a breath away from his face. He smells smoke. Her, or him? “We didn’t jump into a _lightning bolt_ just to prove a point, Captain.”

“No point to prove,” grumbles the gnome in response. He dusts his coat and pants, and finds a fine layer of soot graying the snow around him. Suppose it’s time to put the old uniform in the wash once more. “And it isn’t exactly as though _you_ have any right to chide me, Lup.”

“No, no. She has a point.” Taako moves around him, moseying towards the still body of the drow. The vines have receded back into the snow and dirt, leaving only the blue and black form to breach the endless sea of white. The elf’s hands slip into the pockets of his robes. “Let’s be honest, Cap’n; we all know Lup and I do some stupid shit. That is _expected_ of us. Taaco Surprise, after all. But _you_?”

Davenport doesn’t answer. Partially because he would never dare to give them the satisfaction, and partially because he has no answer. He instead sheaths his cutlass and limps to join Taako’s side before overtaking him. Now standing before the dead drow, he kneels. Snow soaks through the singed fabric. His knee aches. He’ll need to get that looked at, once Merle is done with Magnus. But for now, there are more important things to worry about. Something in his chest falls, weighing like a stone in his belly.

Was she one of them, or another soul twisted by their plans to bring back the Hunger? Had they killed an enemy, or a poor thing who believed herself to be ambushed? It doesn’t matter, Davenport thinks. Not anymore. She is just as dead one way as the other. Trembling fingers extend, to close her eyes; the only courteous thought he will give before his gaze falls to her neck.

There, resting almost too-neatly between her breasts, is yet another black opal necklace.

“Call the Starblaster,” whispers the Captain. He steals the necklace, clutching it between his fingers, and turns towards his family. “We won’t be played again.”


End file.
